The Eighth Weasley
by Fyrie
Summary: The missing Weasley daughter, long assumed dead, is found alive and well, and not far from trouble of the magical kind. COMPLETED - June 30th 2008
1. The Eighth Weasley

Something strange was going on in the Weasley household. To any muggle (non-magic person), The Burrow, the house where Molly and Arthur Weasley lived with between one or all seven of their offspring, depending on the time of year, looked completely normal. 

As did the residents.

But, the Weasley household was not a normal household, not by any stretch of the most overactive imagination.

For one, there was a ghoul in the attic and real gnomes in the garden.

For another, every one of the Weasley family was either a witch of a wizard.

On this day, even these extraordinary facts dimmed in the light of a visitor to The Burrow. 

Molly Weasley and her husband Arthur had opened the door of their home to find the Head Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, even though they had quickly counted all of their children and realised they had no more to send to the school. "Good afternoon Arthur, Molly." Dumbledore's mouth crooked in a smile. "May I...?"

"Of course!" Arthur steered passd his gobsmacked wife and pulled the door wide. "Come in, Professor Dumbledore, come in!"

As the robed wizard entered, Mrs Weasley shook herself. "Goodness!" She whispered, wiping her hands down on her flowery apron. "Professor Dumbledore! We're honoured! You should have let us know you were coming...I would have tidied up..."

"Don't worry, Molly." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I assure you that my office is probably considerably messier than your home." He followed the balding Mr Weasley into the living room, settling on one of the comfortable chairs. "I'm here on official Ministry business, special favour, so I suppose I ought to get started."

"Do you need anything, Professor? Anything at all?"

A strange look crossed the old wizard's face. "Actually, could you perhaps contact all of your children. This involves them as well." The Weasley parents exchanged anxious glances, but Dumbledore raised a hand. "It's nothing to worry about."

"I'll call them." Arthur hurried out of the room, leaving his wife nervously twisting her hands in her apron.

"Would you like a cup of tea, Professor?"

"Albus, please, Molly."

"Oh, yes, of course...would you like a cup of tea...Albus?"

The silver-haired Wizard chuckled. "Thank you, Molly. I would love one."

Leaving Dumbledore seated in the living room, Molly hurried to the kitchen, to see her husband casting handfuls of silvery-green dust into the fire. Filling the kettle, she touched it with her wand, her hand shaking.

"Arthur, you don't think...?"

Her husband looked over at her. "I don't know, Molly...I know that we hoped that one day it might happen, but I don't..." He trailed off as a face appeared in the flames. "Bill! Oh, good! Are you busy?"

"Me? Nah." Their eldest, long-haired son shook his head. "What's up? Another family reunion? Just as long as Aunt Tilly stays away from me..."

"Albus Dumbledore is here." Bill blinked. "He wants all of the family present. He-he says its ministry business..."

The face of their son split into a grin. "Dad, you haven't been tinkering with those muggle vehicles again, have you?" Seeing the tense look on his mother's face as she shakily poured boiling water into the teapot, he nodded. "I'll find Fred and George. Have you got in touch with Charlie? I think Ron's still with him."

"Charlie's my next call." Arthur replied. "Can you apparate here as soon as possible?"

"As soon as I've got the gruesome twosome. See you soon, dad." There was a pop and Bill's head disappeared from the fire. Arthur blew out a sigh of relief.

Grabbing another handful of dust, he hurled into the flames. "Charlie, son, you there?"

Spinning uncontrollably, Charlie's head came to a halt in the grate, blinking dizzily up at his parents. "Hallo, dad." Peering around his father, he winked over at his mother, who was currently firing biscuits from the cupboard onto a plate on the tray. "All right, mam?"

"Charlie, can you afford to take an hour or two off?"

Shaking sweat-matted strands of hair out of his eyes, Charlie looked towards someone that was nearby. "Oi, Jonny, mind if...dad, want me to bring Ron?" His father nodded. "Mind if me and Ron nip home for a bit? Family business." There was a pause as he waited for the response and he nodded. "All right. Dad, when do you want us back?"

"Right away, if possible."

"Ey, Ron? Think you're up to a bit of disapparating?" Charlie turned back to his father. "We'll be there as soon as Ron gets away from the Ridgeback. Ruddy thing decided his hair wasn't red enough..."

"You just make sure he doesn't get hurt, Charlie!" Mrs Weasley called over her husband's shoulder, lifting the tray.

Charlie grinned. "We're working will bleedin' dragons, mum." He replied, a shiny burn on his cheek more prominent when he grinned. "It's like telling Percy that he's not allowed to kiss his boss' arse!"

"Charlie!"

"See you in a bit, mum." Laughing, Charlie disappeared with a loud pop.

Molly blew out a huff of indignation. "Sometimes, I wonder if we shouldn't have been stricter with those boys."

Her husband laughed softly. "You always say that, love." He remarked. He took another handful of dust. "We only need to try and get Percy away from work and Ginny away from Harry long enough to talk to them both."

"If you ask me, a two month Honeymoon is a bit much." The tray floated from her hands and drifted in the direction of the door. "They've only been married three months, for goodness sake. You would think they would like to settle down."

Barely a month after their youngest child had finished her studies at Hogwarts, she and the famous Harry Potter had married in secret. No one could quite believe it, particularly Harry's best friend and their youngest son, Ron.

When anyone ever asked the grinning Ginny what she saw in her husband, she usually managed to mutter something about his 'wand action', before disappearing off with a wide and surprisingly dirty grin on her face.

After revealing their secret marriage, the couple had vanished away on a mystery honeymoon and hadn't been seen since around the middle of August. Postcards kept being delivered from various points of the world, including the Arctic circle, Stonehenge and - most strangely - the border of America and Mexico. 

Even "The Daily Prophet", the wizarding newspaper hadn't been able to locate the now-World-famous couple. From what The Weasleys could gather from the postcards, that was exactly Harry and Ginny's point.

"Harry always did say he wanted to travel." Arthur reminded her, tossing some dust into the fire again. "Harry, Ginny? Are you two..."

"We're here, dad!" Their daughter's giggling face appeared in the flames. "Harry! Stoppit!"

Harry's head appeared too, but he was almost unrecognisable, his hair even longer than it been before, his glasses missing. "Afternoon Mr Weasley!" They both had colourful stripes painted on their cheeks. "You just scared half of the tribe we're staying with out of the wits."

"Are you two...er...busy?"

"We're on our honeymoon, dad." Ginny laughed. "Course we're not. Whats up?"

"Any chance you might be able to come home for a few hours?" The two heads disappeared with a pop. "Harry? Ginny?"

"Boo!" A pair of arms wrapped around Mr Weasley, making him jump with surprise. "Hello, dad! Whatcha needing us for?"

"Ginny! What on earth are you wearing!" Flustered, Mrs Weasley crossed the floor and embraced her daughter, then held her at arm's length. 

"And here was me thinking you'd be glad to see us." Ginny returned the hug, then took a step back from her mother and made a twirl. "Do you like it?" She was wearing what looked like a single strip of crudely woven, colourful fabric with clay bracelets circling her wrists. Her waist-length hair had been braided and threaded through with ribbons and feathers. "We were half way down Africa when you called."

"Er..." Molly eyed the rough outfit, fingering her wand.

"Don't even think about it, mum!"

Harry's voice interrupted from the table. "I think she looks smashing." If the Weasleys Senior had stared at their daughter's outlandish clothing, that was nothing compared to the gape that Harry received.

The Wizard was sitting in one of the seats, a woven kilt-like skirt around his hips and what looked like a lion-skin cape flung over his shoulders. His torso, as well as his face, had been daubed with colourful paint.

"I think I might...er...go and see to Professor Dumbledore." Mrs Weasley said, directing the tray through the door.

"Old Dumble's here? Brilliant!" Standing, Harry caught his wife's hand and winked. "I think he's going to love our new look." They followed Molly through to the living room, leaving Arthur to contact his remaining son.

In the living room, Mrs Weasley poured a cup of tea for Dumbledore, who eyed the newly-weds with interest. "Thank you Molly...and you two, remarkably well done on keeping your location hidden."

"We can thank Hermione for that." Harry said with a grin, pushing his long fringe back from his eyes. "She made us enough Polyjuice potion to keep ourselves in disguise until all this fuss wears out. As far as anyone knows, Ron and Hermione have been travelling the world and looking very cosy together."

"But there was that one time we mixed up the potions...Ron wasn't too happy about being married to Ron, was he?" Ginny laughed. "I told Harry we should have got different colours of flasks, but no, the famous Mister Potter knew better..." She did a wicked impression of Snape, their former Potions teacher. "He is so deluded by his fame that he is bound to make simple, foolish mistakes."

"Oh shut up." Harry snatched the cushion from behind his back and aimed it at her head.

"Wow! This must be a special occasion if THE couple grace us with their presence." Neither of the couple on the couch had to look to see who was speaking. "Nice to see you, sis." Ginny was hugged from behind by someone who was still smoking slightly around the head. "Harry...you too."

Harry was on his feet in an instant. "Nice to see you too, Ron." Offering his hand to his friend, he gave Ron a fond hug. "How've you been? Still playing with fire, I see." He nodded to the singed patch of Ron's hair. "Let me guess...you and Hermione had a tiff..."

"Harry, we stopped going out with each other three years ago."

"So...you and Hermione had a tiff?"

Charlie, standing several paces behind his youngest brother, grinned. "Unless Hermione has learned to become an animagus that can turn into a dragon, I don't think so...but with Hermi, anything is possible."

"Did you just insult our teacher of Muggle Studies?" Dumbledore said with a smile.

"Don't we always, Professor?" Ron crossed the floor to shake Dumbledore's hand.

The old wizard nodded with a chuckle. "Good point, Ronald. Very good point." He glanced at the clock in the corner. "Ah, the twins and Bill are travelling together?" There was a 'ding' from the clock, three figures appearing in the centre of the living room.

"All right, mum?" The twins descended on their mother, both wearing white robes that resembled muggle lab coats. At least, they would have been white, if they hadn't been covered in potions and concoctions. They both risked a glance at Harry and Ginny.

Fred raised a brow. "Mum, did you know Tarzan and Jane are in the living room?"

"Funny. I didn't know that Jane was a red head."

Ginny shot a glare at them. "Shut up or I'll set Harry on you!"

"Oh!" Fred peered closely at Harry. "That's Harry! I thought you'd run off with a wild man."

"Mum! Tell them to stop it!"

George grinned. "Sorry, Gin. Its just too easy to wind you up." He looked at down at his mother. "We'll behave, mum."

"I hope you two haven't been getting into any trouble lately." They looked shocked at the accusation. Neither of them had gotten around to telling her that they were the new proprietors of Zonko's Joke Shop in Hogsmeade. Letting each of them kiss her cheek, Molly turned to her eldest son. "Oh, Bill...you still haven't done anything about that hair of yours!"

Sipping his tea, Dumbledore raised his eyes to the former Head boy and smiled beneath his moustache. "It could do with being a little longer, don't you think, Molly?"

"But Albus, it looks so silly being so long and...well..." Her eyes suddenly seemed to alight on Dumbledore's silver mane. "I suppose it can look respectable on the right person..."

"This had better be important." A snooty voice rang through the door of the kitchen.

All of the present Weasleys looked at one another and - as one - said. "Percy!" Hurriedly taking all the seats, they all looked to the door, exchanging grins as the door opened, letting Mr Weasley enter.

The only one of the Weasleys to work for the Ministry aside from their father, Percy strode into the living room behind his father with his usual air of self-importance.

"Deructus." Bill muttered under his breath with the tiniest flick of his wand in Percy's direction..

Percy's shoelaces quickly twisted together and he tripped, falling onto his face in the open floor. "Ow! Mother!" Molly hurriedly helped him up, as the whole room erupted in laughter. He scowled around, hopping to an empty spot of floor and sitting, every seat taken.

"Fred!" Fred gaped at his mother. "George!" He looked baffled. "Charlie!" The dragon-keeper shrugged helplessly. "Ron!" He shook his head. "Ginny!" The nineteen-year-old lapsed into giggles, shaking her head. "Harry?"

"Wasn't me, Mrs Weasley."

Bill, who was looking remarkably innocent, looked up at his mother. She crosed her arms over her chest. "What?"

"At your age, I would have thought that you would at least have learned to set a good example to your brothers and sister." 

"Molly, it's too late for him to change now." Dumbledore said jovially. "Now, I hope you are all comfortable? As I told your parents, I am here on business of the Ministry. I was asked especially to deliver the news to you."

Mr and Mrs Weasley looked at each other, Molly coming to sit on the arm of her husband's chair. "Is-is this about what we think its about, Albus?" Arthur asked hopefully, his arm wrapping around his plump wife's waist.

"Quite possibly." Dumbledore placed his cup on his knee and folded his hands in his lap. "We have sent a team of wizards from the Unmentionable department to check, but we believe we are correct. The location of Sarah Weasley has been uncovered. She is alive, safe and well."

Mrs Weasley buried her face in her hands with a loud sob, Mr Weasley sitting upright. "Are-are you certain?" 

"Almost a hundred and fifty percent." Dumbledore nodded with a smile.

"Arthur...they've found her...they've found her..." Molly turned to her seated husband, wrapping her arms around him. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, but she was smiling. "Nineteen years...nineteen years..."

All of the Weasley children were exchanging bemused looks. "Mum..." Bill finally asked. "Who is Sarah Weasley anyway? Do we know her?" 

Wiping her face on her apron, Molly sat up, smiling happily. "You don't know her...or at least, you probably don't remember her...Arthur, should we tell them...?" He nodded. "Sarah Weasley is your youngest sister, Ginny's twin."

"I-I have a twin?" Ginny stared at her parents. "You didn't tell me I had a twin!"

Arthur patted Molly's hand. "We thought she was dead up until now." He said, his voice shaking with emotion. "Just after you were born, Death Eaters snatched her and would have taken you. It was only days before..." Even since his defeat, saying his name was difficult for the majority of wizards. "Voldemort went after the Potters. We thought she had been killed but it seems she wasn't..."

"Where is she? Does she know about us?"

Dumbledore made a gesture for calm. "She isn't aware of the existence of our world, in its truest form. She was adopted and raised by a couple of muggles, so she has the same kind of upbringing as Harry did." He said. "However, she has been experimenting with her abilities, which is how she was found. It was her location that caused so many problems. From what the Ministry has told me, she has lived her life on a centrepoint of magical convergence, which made it difficult to pinpoint her for a time."

"How are we going to get in touch with her?" Mrs Weasley asked, her voice trembling. "After all, Harry's story has been leaked to the Muggles...maybe she's heard about it?"

Harry sighed, shaking his head. "I just want to know how that Rawlings woman found out so much about me...about us. She knew about the Philosopher's Stone, the Chamber of Secrets, Sirius' escape from Azkhaban...if she keeps on at this rate, she'll tell my whole School life to the Muggles."

"No doubt she will be aware of it, but she probably assumed that it was fictional." Dumbledore steepled his fingers. "After all, its all seems so fantastic to Muggles, that none of them realise that it did happen."

"But we will be able to contact her?" 

Dumbledore nodded. "The Ministry has asked me to be the first to contact her, to see if she does wish to rejoin her true family." He smiled around at them. "If she will see me and agrees to see you all, I will contact you and bring her to the Leaky Cauldron as soon as I can."

"Can you even tell us where she is?" Arthur asked hopefully.

The old Wizard shook his head, his expression turning serious. "Not until she is informed of the circumstances."

"But she is happy and well?"

"She is." Rising, handing his cup and saucer to Charlie, Dumbledore brushed his colourful robes down and bent to shake Arthur's hand. "I will let you know as soon as we know more, Arthur. Molly..." She grasped his long-fingered hand, shaking it gratefully. "Take care."

***

Tapping his lower lip with his fingertips, Dumbledore dipped his quill into the bottle of ink. He had been pondering how to word the letter ever since the Ministry had permitted him to be the one to contact the girl who had once been called Sarah Weasley.

Gazing at the sheet of parchment, the Hogwarts crest embossed at the top, he smiled slightly. Placing the tip of the quill on the paper, he starting to scratch the letter in place, the green lettering shining on the parchment.

Several minutes later, content with his efforts, he carefully folded the sheet and slipped it into an envelope. Turning the envelope over, he released a long sigh and carefully etched the address of the girl on the front.

__

Miss Willow Rosenberg,

214 Stevenson Hall

U.C. Sunnydale.

California

USA.


	2. Contact

The Eighth Weasley 

The Eighth Weasley - Chapter Two Contact

Harry stirred drowsily, one hand stretching out across the bed that he and his wife shared. One eye opened when his finger skimmed over the cool sheet and he released a sigh, sitting up.

Once again, Ginny had woken, no doubt troubled by thoughts of the twin she never knew that she had.

Pushing the heavy patchwork blankets off his body, he swung out of the large bed and onto the wooden floor, one hand groping out across the bedside cabinet for his wand and his glasses.

Straightening up, he ran his fingers through his mussed hair, which always looked so much worse when he just got up, although quite a few people found that hard to believe, considering how wild it was on a day to day basis.

He could hear music, quiet music, from somewhere.

No doubt, the living-room.

Illuminating his wand with a mutter, he glanced around the room to make sure that Ginny definitely wasn't there, his brow furrowing as he saw her thick, warm red dressing gown still draped over the end of the bed.

"For goodness' sake, Ginny," he muttered to himself, picking up the warm robe. "You'll catch your death of cold…" 

Hauling his own dark green dressing down on, hers slung over his arm, he shuffled out into the cool hallway, spotting a glow from the living room a door down on the opposite side of the hall, the door of which was partially ajar.

He and his wife lived in a small bungalow, which had been a gift to them from the Ministry of Magic. 

The official reason behind them having house was it was a 'thank you' present, but the real reason was that Ginny had been used as bait to trap several Death Eaters and had almost been killed.

Harry had been furious about it, but Ginny – when offered the nice little house they now shared – had said they might as well take it instead of griping.

One storey, with a fairly large kitchen, medium-sized, comfortable bedroom and study-cross-living room, they had settled in quickly, after their return from the Honeymoon and Harry was sure he had seen Ginny doodling plans for additional rooms, entitled 'Harry Junior's' and Ginny Junior's'.

Padding down the hall, the carpets soft against his feet, he opened the door to see a fire crackling quietly in the red brick hearth on the other side of the room. The large sofa hid much of the other side of the living room.

Fred and George had been the ones to produce it and it still occasionally swallowed their visitors whole, if Harry didn't remember to cast the counter-charm on it before they sat down.

Quiet classical music was playing on the small stereo he insisted on having on the dresser that stood beside the fireplace, between photographs of their parents and beneath the picture they had taken at their wedding.

Crossing the room, he looked over the back of the couch, a sad smile coming to his face. 

A small figure was sitting in front of the fire, her knees hugged up against her chest.

As always, she was sitting in front of the fire, gazing into the dancing flames.

"Ginny?"

She didn't even look around. "I was thinking."

"So I could tell," he replied quietly, walking around the couch, which stretched from one side of the room to the other. Kneeling down, he wrapped her dressing gown around her shoulders. "You're freezing."

"I'm okay," she muttered, staring at the flames.

"Something tells me that you're not, love," Harry sighed, drawing her against his chest and kissing the top of her head. "You've been working yourself into a state all week. It's not good for you."

"I just…its just that…" He wasn't surprised when she uttered a quiet sob and curled against his chest. "Harry…I have a sister…I have a twin…how could I not know about her? How could I not feel her?"

Hugging her, rocking her soothingly, Harry pressed kisses to her temple and the top of her head. "You didn't know, Ginny…your memory…you couldn't know…"

"But I should have…there was always something missing…always…how could I not realise what it was?"

Lifting her face to his with one hand, Harry studied her, his thumb moving in circles on her cheek. She looked angry, confused and a little scared as well, blotches of red on her pale face. "Ginny, you can't blame yourself. Your parents hid it from you, so you wouldn't get hurt."

"What if she…she thinks we betrayed her? Because we didn't remember her?"

"She won't."

"How do…"

Gentle fingers quieted her words. "Ginny, believe me. She won't."

"But how…"

Harry gave her the smile that always drew a smile from her, no matter how sad she was feeling. "Because," he said his forehead resting lightly against hers. "I'm the famous Mister Harry Potter. I know all. I see all."

"You're an arse is more like it," she sniffed, burrowing against him.

"Well, that too, but even you have to admit I'm a damn good looking arse."

Ginny laughed weakly, her head coming to rest beneath his chin, his arms wrapped around her body. "You think she'll want to meet us, Harry?" she asked, her voice still shaking a little.

"I'm sure she will, love."

"Really?"

"It's going to be one of those nights where I have to repeat everything five times at least before you believe me, isn't it?"

His wife hiccupped quietly and sniffed again. "I always believe you, Harry," she whispered. "But I've never had to face the fact that I have a sister, who was stolen and now, she might be coming back…"

"If it helps, I haven't had to do that either," Harry nuzzled her hair. "Can you imagine the poor girl who would have to deal with having me as a brother? God help her! At least your sister has you…"

"You're being all mushy again."

"And?"

Ginny looked up at him. "It's weird."

"I know and that's why I do it," he laughed, sliding his muscular arms under her body and, ignoring her squeal, scooping her up. "And now, Mrs Potter," he announced. "We are going back to bed."

"But Harry!"

"No 'buts', my dear Mrs Potter," he chastised, his eyes twinkling. "I have Quidditch practise at ten o'clock in the morning and I need you to be awake and ready to help me warm up before I leave."

Her arms around his neck, Ginny gave him a suspicious look. "Is that Quidditch player talk for we're going to have wild and kinky sex?"

Green eyes crinkled with amusement. "Well, if you insist…"

***

Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Willow stared blankly down at the cushion that was lying in her lap. Twisting the gold fringe around her fingertip, she watched the tip of the digit turn an odd shade of purple.

"Will, you okay?" Standing at her mirror, Buffy was brushing dried grass and dirt from her slay-tangled hair. Shaking her blonde mane out behind her, she looked over at the red head . "Will? Anyone in?"

The red head looked up miserably. "You know when a boyfriend doesn't want to...you know...is that bad?"

"Hello?" Crossing the floor, her hands pulling her hair back into a ponytail, Buffy sat down on her friend's bed. "Will , you're talking to Miss I-sleep-with-my-hunny-and-he-becomes-evil-demon-killer. I don't think I'm the best person to ask."

Willow sighed. "I know...its just...that weird Verruca-I-dance-like-a-ho and Oz...they have so much more in common that Oz and me do..."

"Oz is your faithful puppy, Will," The blonde squeezed the red head's knee fondly. "Just as long as you never tell me you made him to beg...not that I'm saying you're a domina...er...that's evil double vampire badness! Shutting up...and did you know there's an owl at your window?"

Willow smiled faintly. "You don't have to talk crazy to try and distract me." 

"I'm serious, Will!" Buffy pointed beyond her friend's shoulder and through the glass. "There's an owl sitting on the window ledge...its got something in its beak."

"Huh?" The witch sat up and looked at the window. Large, round, yellow eyes stared back at her unblinkingly from the tendrils of ivy spread over the ledge. A yellowish envelope was clutched in a vivid orange beak, swirling green writing faintly visible on the front. 

Willow opened the window and curtains, letting the tawny owl hopped over the ledge. It dropped the envelope on the vacant mattress. Fluttering over to the sink, its claws clicked on the edge as it landed and looked at the basin expectantly.

"I think it's thirsty," Buffy hurried over the basin, running a little water into it. The owl hooted gratefully and dipped his beak into the water.

Willow, though, had picked up the envelope, turning it over. "Buffy, you know those books everyone has been talking about?"

"Harry Potter?" The Slayer was watching the owl.

"What was the name of the school in the book?"

The blonde looked over, shrugged. Holding out a hand to the bird on the sink, she laughed as the owl hopped onto it. "Hog...Hog-something..."

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?" The red head slowly sat down on the bed, staring at the crest emblazoned on the back of the envelope. 

Buffy nodded, making for the fridge and raking through the aging student supplies until she found a piece of not-too-old meat. The bird accepted it and hooted again. "I think it likes me," she said cheerfully, "but what's the deal with the Hog-thingie?"

"Can you...uh...get letters from fictional characters?"

"Is this a trick question?" The blonde looked over, rubbing the owl's head. "It sounds like something Giles would ask before telling us Hansel and Gretel were really a freaky, lumpy, giant demon who made people paranoid about everything and tried to kill us all by burning us...oh, wait. That did happen..."

"I'm serious." Opening out the sheet of folded parchment, Willow stared at it. "Either I'm going crazy...er, or someone's doing a lot of work for a very good practical joke," She looked up at her friend hopefully. "I'm not going crazy, am I? Cos I don't want to go crazy, cos craziness usually means badness and badness isn't good and I don't not want to be good and I'm babbling again, aren't I which is good cos it means I'm not crazy cos I always babble...or does it mean I am crazy cos I'm babbling more than usual…?"

"Hey, hey...calm down," Buffy couldn't help smiling. Leaving the owl on the desk beside the refrigerator, feasting on a small dish of scraps, she came to Willow's side, holding out her hand for the letter. "Let me have a look at it."

"But I'm not crazy?"

"Will, I would tell you if you were crazy."

Willow gave her a lop-sided grin. "Thanks."

"What are best friends for?" The blonde smoothed out the letter and started to read, "Dear Miss Rosenberg...sounds normal enough...I, Albus Dumbledore, have been selected to contact you, in regards to your magical...blah-blah-blah....dum-dum-dum...please contact us by return of owl, if you wish to know more. Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Are you going to write back?"

Willow gaped at her. "Are you serious? Its from a character from a fantasy book and if I write back I'm going to look very stupid...because if I'm even reading and believing it probably means I'm very stupid, doesn't it...?"

"Just write back for fun then," The Slayer grinned mischievously. "Ask 'Albus Dumbledore' to come and see you, about this matter of 'great personal import' and then you'll see if he's fictional or if he's just a really cute geek that I can date," The small owl fluttered across the room and landed on her shoulder. "What?" She gave the owl a shocked look. "I can't date a geek?"

"Do you think that's a good idea?"

"Why not? What harm can it do?"

"Um...dated a demon computer because he sounded kinda neat..."

The Slayer nodded. "Uh…yeah...well, I bet this guy'll be different. I mean, he's probably not even from around here, so what are the chances of him being all demony?" She made a hurrying gesture and nodded at the letter. "Write back. It'll take your mind off things, like Skanky-Ho."

"I guess..." Grabbing a pen off the bedside cabinet, she reached down and opened the drawer, withdrawing a sheet of paper. "Uh…what should I write?"

Buffy shrugged, raising her hand to bring the owl down to perch on her knee. It hooted softly, shifting from one clawed foot to the other. "You're the one who always says all the smart stuff, Will. I just sit around and look cute and confused," She half-grinned. "Just ask Giles."

The red head laughed. "I guess so…" Leaning on the low desk, she started to write. "Okay, how does this sound…" She cleared her throat and read. "Dear Mister Dumbledore. I got your letter and I was wondering if you could tell me how you heard about me and what you want to meet me about." There was a pause, as she scribbled something else. "Please."

"That sounds okay," Bending to root around in the drawer of her own locker beside her bed, Buffy withdrew an unopened packet of white envelopes. "You want to make a good impression, right? Its not like I'm ever going to use these things." She pulled a face at the envelopes. "Ever."

Accepting one of the envelopes, Willow signed the letter, then slipped the piece of paper into the envelope and sealed it. "What address should I use? The School one? Or shall I just put his name on it or Sir or something?"

"His name and Hog-gie place's address?"

Nodding, Willow scribbled the address on the front and awkwardly held out the letter to the owl on Buffy's knee. "Uh…can you take this to Dumbledore for me? Please?" 

The owl hooted and lifted the top of the envelope in its beak. Ruffling its feathers, it fluttered to the open window and paused on the sill. Spreading its wings, it launched itself out into the night air, Buffy and Willow watching it until it was out of sight.

"And now," The blonde turned to her friend, her eyes dancing. "I officially declare you crazy."

Willow groaned. "I knew I shouldn't have sent the letter!"

"Too late now, Will," Buffy bounced towards her bed, snatching up her suede jacket and pulling it on. "Now, are you coming out with me to kill some slimy and disgusting creatures of the night? I need someone there to hear my smart one-liners before I kill 'em."

Willow looked down as Buffy hauled a long, gleaming sword out from under the bed and spun it in her hand with an expectant look at the red head. "Do I have any choice?"

***

Three nights had past since Willow had written back to Dumbledore. Seated in his office, in the top tower of Hogwarts, the old Wizard absently ran his fingers through his long beard as he read and re-read the lines.

His tawny owl was seated on its perch, watching him out of beady eyes. "Oh, don't worry, old friend," he chuckled. "You can rest now. I don't intend to send you off on anymore deliveries at this moment."

The owl gave a soft, grateful hoot, then tucked its head under its wing, assuming its favourite sleeping position.

For the present, Dumbledore had other concerns. Taking off his half-moon spectacles, he rubbed his eyes wearily, then re-read the letter from the girl who did not know that she was no more muggle than he was.

No doubt, she would think it a joke.

No doubt, it would sound crazy to announce that Harry Potter was, indeed, real and was her brother-in-law.

Placing the sheet of paper on the desk, he replaced his spectacles and steepled his fingers, deep in thought. He would have to proceed carefully, he knew. He didn't want to scare the child and he did not want to isolate her from her own people, her friends and family, with the truth.

To write another letter was an option. However, corresponding with her, until she started to understand it was no joke would probably take months.

Another alternative was for the Weasleys to go and pay a visit, but with the increasing popularity of the books, a family of nine red heads travelling in the company of an old man with a long beard and wizard robes, and a young man with black hair and the infamous lightening scar would have screamed that something unusual was going on.

The final choice remained. It was the most favourable, and yet, he found himself longing to avoid it as well.

He could clearly recall the last time he had been forced to visit a site of such powerful mystical convergence, even after so many years. He had been so young, impetuous and daring when he had taken the challenge.

He had almost died because of his arrogance and, in that painful lesson, had learned never to underestimate the other side.

Even Voldemort had feared the places known as Hellmouths, for the reason that the dark powers that they held were ones that no mere Wizard or Witch could even dream of controlling, no matter how powerful they were.

Rising, Dumbledore paced across the richly carpet-lined floor of his study, his hands folded behind his back. His gaze drifted out of the rippled glass of the windows, the colours of a new dawn just creeping into the sky and adding the vividness of day to the castle. 

Despite the beauty of the dawn, he couldn't hold in a sigh, thinking of the place he would be travelling to soon. 

It was a place where exiled dark wizards could hide, it was a place where creatures of the night ran wild, it was a place he had really wanted to avoid, ever since that run in with a creature who had arrogantly called himself 'The Master' on a trip through the town's underground.

To deliberately go to El Boco Di Infierno was probably one of the worst things he could imagine himself doing, but if he was to find the missing Weasley and bring her back to her family.

For all he knew, she could be in danger of the deepest and most dark varieties. Darker even that Voldemort, darkness that could not be defeated as easily as the Dark Lord. What kind of Wizard would he be, if he simply left her there to suffer?

The old Wizard released another hearty sigh and returned to his desk, retrieving his old travelling carpet bag from beneath it. "Do you want to come along, Fawkes?" he addressed the drowsy Phoenix. It gave him a stare. "No? I didn't think you would be as foolish as I am."

Packing several items, including his wands, Dumbledore made his way out of his office and down the spiral staircase, pausing only to leave a letter for Professor McGonogall on her desk. A carriage was waiting to carry him to Hogsmeade and from there...

Ah, the wonder of disapparation. 


	3. Of Slayers and Invisibility Cloaks

The halls of the student dormitories were silent, not a figure stirring, save one petite blonde girl who had just slipped out of her room, armed with a gleaming battle-ax and several long slivers of wood.

Panels of moonlights spread onto the floor of the hall through the large windows as she tiptoed along, trying not to disturb any students who might still be awake.

She was halfway down the stairs, on the way to the main door, when a tingle of unease shot down her spine. Something soft brushed passed her ankle and she whipped around, searching for whatever had caused it. 

The hall was deserted.

"There better not be anyone here." Buffy muttered, half to herself, half to anyone who might be sneaking around - invisible - hefting her ax in her hand. "I've fought invisible things before and killed them all."

No one answered and the feeling passed.

The Slayer shrugged, continuing on her way down the staircase and out, into the grounds of the university, for her third nightly slaying session. As always, she knew there would be plenty of uglies for her to deal with.

In the hallway that she had just vacated, something very strange was happening, though.

With a rustle of soft material, a head appeared from nowhere, floating in the air. Long silver hair and the top of a silver beard surrounded the face of an old Wizard, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement.

"A Slayer..." He remarked to himself with a chuckle.

Somehow, it didn't really surprise Dumbledore to know that the Weasley's youngest daughter had managed to end up connected with one of the most powerful variety of muggles. Even if it was just a matter of going to the same college and living in the same dorms.

Nevertheless, he wasn't here to watch a Slayer going about her duty. 

Continuing down the hallway, pulling the hood of his invisibility cloak back over his head, he came to the door of the room that should - if he remembered the address correctly - be that of the girl who was known as Willow Rosenberg.

One hand dipped into one of the capricious pockets of the cloak, withdrawing another hand-written letter sealed into a parchment envelope. This one was marked with his own seal, as opposed to that of Hogwarts.

Bending, he gently pushed the envelope under the door, unwilling to risk using too much magic while he was newly arrived on the Hellmouth. He would have to let himself adjust to the mystical imbalance he felt.

With the kinds of creatures he knew inhabited such a place, the chances of them being drawn to his power was high and he really didn't want to find himself fighting for his life again, when he was only meant to be insuring the safety of the eighth Weasley.

Returning down the moonlit hall, he exited into the main darkened grounds of the silent campus, where he could hear the sounds of fighting and the voice of the girl who had passed him on the stairs.

Making his way across the grass, he followed the sounds, rounding some bushes, where he came upon the ongoing fight.

While he had heard the rumours of Slayers and their innate physical strength and prowess, he had never seen one at work in all his many years. Now, he could understand why their reputation was so reknown in the upper circles of the Magical World.

Two large male vampires were fighting with the little muggle, but she was still beating them with a practised ease that spoke of years of doing the same. Roundhouse kicks, punches and tosses left the two vampires fallen and her stake was plunged rapidly into each heart in turn.

Straightening up and brushing the dust from her clothes, she froze, looking around. "All right, this isn't funny." She rotated full circle, looking around. "I know someone is here. Will you just come out so I can kill you already?"

Dumbledore slowly started to move backwards, away from her, fascinated by the acuteness of her senses. For a muggle to pick up specific mystical vibrations in a place filled with such a tangle of powers, it was little less than a miracle.

Hazel eyes suddenly locked onto his position and she took a step towards him. "All right, buddy. You've got til I count to five to show yourself. If you don't..." She shrugged. "I'll find you and beat you senseless any..."

A crash in the undergrowth distracted her and she whipped around as a large furry creature exploded out of the brush, lunging straight at her.

"Oz! How many times do we have to tell you to lock the cage properly?" The blonde yelled, tossing the creature that Dumbledore had recognised as a werewolf. One of her hands went behind her back and she withdrew a pistol from her belt.

The wolf, though, seemed distracted. Lips peeled back from fangs, he sniffed the air, his shaggy head swinging in the direction of the concealed Wizard. He broke towards the hidden Dumbledore, but before he got five paces, the gun was fired.

The Slayer sighed, pushing the pistol back into her belt and walking towards the tranquilised wolf. "Let's get you back to your cage." She said, bending and heaving the drugged beast over her shoulder.

She didn't kill it.

That surprised the old Wizard, as he turned and walked away in the other direction. Most normal Wizards and Muggles would simply kill a werewolf, if it had lunged out of the bushes at them when they were armed with a gun, but this demon slayer didn't. 

He would have to find about that, after.

But first, he would wait until he had sorted through the situation with the young Weasley. 

***

Pushing the door of the dorm open, her hair mussed and grass stains all over her clothes, Buffy hurriedly closed the door behind her, hoping that she wouldn't wake her sleeping room mate and friend.

"You're late."

Grinning apologetically at the red head, the Slayer shrugged, flicking the lights on. "Blame your hunny." She replied. "He decided that he wanted to play tag with me, so I had to put him back in his cage."

"He escaped again?" Willow groaned. "If he keeps doing this, I'm going to start considering chaining him up again." Buffy raised a brow and Willow immediately raised a hand. "Don't even think that!"

The blonde chuckled, tossing a handful of stakes and her small tranquiliser gun onto her desk, her ax propped against the wall. "Weird..." She bent down to pick up something lying on the floor at her feet. "Will, did you hear anyone outside?"

"No. Why?"

Straightening up, Buffy waved a parchment envelope. "Looks like our mysterious letter-writer dropped something for you."

"H-he was here?" Willow blanched, throwing back her blankets and swinging out of her bed, her feet landing neatly in her slippers. Crossing the floor, she snatched the envelope from Buffy and turned it over, staring at the seal. "Double 'D'." She said, eyes narrowing in confusion.

"So this guy is well endowed in the chest?" Dropping her dirt-smeared jacket on her chair, Buffy kicked her shoes off and under her bed. The red head gave her a look and the blonde grinned again. "My bad." She waited for a moment. "Are you going to open it?"

"I guess..." Breaking the seal, one eye pressed shut, as if she expected something bad to erupt from it, the young witch opened the envelope. Nothing happened, so she opened her eyes, carefully pulling the fresh parchment out. She walked back towards her bed as she read, sitting down on the mattress.

Downing half a glass of water, Buffy tilted her head as her friend's brow wrinkled. "Well?"

"Huh?"

"What does it say, Will?"

The red head looked nervously up at her friend. "He...uh...he says that he wants to meet me tomorrow." Her expression was one of worry and concern. "He's in Sunnydale and he'll drop by about noon, if that's okay with me."

"What?"

"He hasn't even left me an address so I can write to him and tell him no." The young witch re-read the letter again, her face a mask of panic.

"You don't wanna met this guy?"

"I don't know, Buffy." She smoothed the letter on her knees, raising her eyes to Buffy as she did so. "What if he's like Moloch again? What if he's a demon?"

"I could hang around when he shows up and if he turns out to be a demon jerk, I could kick his ass for you." The blonde offered, donning her nightshirt as she talked. "You can't contact him, so you might as well see him." She pulled the blanket back from her mattress, revealing a small stack of blades. "I'll wait in the hall for him and if he looks demony..." She gathered the knives from her bed with wicked grin. "That sound okay?"

Willow sighed. "I guess."

***

The room looked impeccable.

The rugs were so straight that it looked like they had been laid to measure. 

The covers on the beds were flat and smooth, the pillows fluffed to perfection.

The red-haired witch was pacing frantically from one side of the room to the other, trying to feel safe in the knowledge her friend, the superhero, was prowling the hall outside. Somehow, even that didn't hold much comfort.

It was nearly noon and she kept glancing at her watch ever few seconds.

"Okay...okay...calm and cool...distraction. Need a distraction..." 

She scanned the room, finding the books she had started reading after the first letter. She was halfway through the second one already. Snatching it up, she sat down on her bed, opening it to the page she had marked.

"All right..." Running her finger down to the paragraph she had reached, she pushed strands of red hair back from her eyes. "Ron and Harry have taken polyjuice potion and are on the way to the Slytherin common room..."

"Good to see you taking such an interest in our world." An amused voice said.

Willow looked up at the opposite bed and shrieked in fright, jerking back across her bed and falling straight onto the floor. "BUFFY!"

The door swung inwards, the Slayer standing there, armed and ready. "What is it?" Then she noticed what had shocked her friend.

A disembodied head was floating about three feet above her bed. It turned towards the petite blonde and smiled. "Ah, Buffy Summers." He said, blue eyes twinkling. "Would you mind shutting the door. Some people aren't so..liberal about seeing Wizards in invisibility cloaks."

"Mind telling us who you are?" The Slayer demanded coolly. "And how you got in here? And what do you mean an invisibility cloak?"

Willow had picked herself up and warily rounded the bed. "Are you...Dumbledore?"

"That I am, my dear." The head rose another couple of feet and there was a swish of material, then the most outlandishly clad body that either of the girls had ever seen came into view. 

A vivid combination of crimson, emerald and sapphire, the gold-threaded velveteen robes looked expensive and wouldn't have been far out of place in an expensive television adaptation of Merlin.

"Going to give me a reason I can't kill you? Or at least beat you very hard?"

Dumbledore smiled broadly at her, as he placed a scarlet velvet cap on his head. "You could if you liked, but it really wouldn't accomplish very much, considering that I am as human as your Witch-friend here."

"But you...invisible...I mean, your head was floating and...what's that?" She pointed to the silvery sheet of fabric that he was holding.

"This is an invisibility cloak, my dear." He replied. "Many wizards in our World have them."

"You mean they're real? I mean, like in Harry Potter?" The witch cautiously approached. "May I?" He nodded, holding out the cloak. The girl carefully placed it on her shoulders, pulling the hood over her head. Moving to look in the mirror, she stared at it, but could see no trace of herself. "Wow..."

"So you were the guy watching me last night?" Buffy eyed the Wizard, recalling the odd sensations she had felt during patrol.

He folded his hands, nodding. "I'm afraid that was me. I had just been to deliver a letter to our friend, here."

"Wait a second..." Willow tugged the cloak off, staring at Dumbledore. "If you're real and this invisibility cloak is real..." She stared down at the book on her bed, sitting down heavily. "Oh God...I'm having one of those dreams again, aren't I?"

"This is no dream, Willow." Dumbledore reassured her, smiling. "Everything in those Harry Potter books is as close to reality as a muggle spy could get." A flicker of mischief shone in his eyes. "Of course, some things are purely fictional...for example, that scene with the earwax flavoured bean...I would never be foolish enough to pick a yellow bean."

"I think I need to sit down."

"Will, you are sitting down."

"Oh...good for me..."

Dumbledore, though, was eyeing the large cage that stood in the corner. "Your familiar?" He inquired, then frowned. "What happened to her to leave her a rat?" He looked across at the red head. "Was she attempting to become an animagi or did a transfiguration go wrong?"

"Uh..."

"We were going to be burned at the stake." Buffy supplied, still holding her blade. "She turned herself into a rat to escape. She turned me into a rat before." 

"A bad attempt at transfiguration, then." He bent to look in at the rat. The rat stared back at him. "Do you recall the spell she used?" Willow shook her head. "Perhaps Professor McGonogall and I might be able to help her…alas, so many inaccurately performed transfigurations can never be corrected." 

The Slayer looked from her friend to the old man in the strange robes. "Uh..excuse me...I still wanna know how you got in here."

"I disapparated from my Motel." The wizard cast a sidelong look at her. "It takes a lot of effort on the Hellmouth. Its very difficult to centre your power."

"You find that too?" The red head piped up, turning to look at him.

Dumbledore felt relieved that she had not been stunned into utter silence. "I am assuming that you have practised a few spells, then?" He asked, sitting down on the bed opposite her, eyeing her with interest. 

It would be intersting to see how far she had got with the amateur, muggle ideas of magic and spells. Some were incredibly accurate, but only people of a magical persuasion and with enough magic in their blood could perform them.

"Uh, I've done a few charms and made a few potions." She nodded at the cage. "Amy and I were part of a small coven, but it kinda...stopped when she became a rat. It made doing spells kinda difficult, when all she could do was squeak."

Dumbledore laughed softly. "Yes, I can see how that would be a minor difficulty." He gazed at he from behind his half-moon spectacles. "Do you happen to have a wand?"

"Uh...no." Dumbledore was impressed. "Should I have?"

The old wizard nodded. "Most spells are impossible without a wand, unless you have very acute mental control and power. Tell me, can you levitate objects?" In response, Willow looked at the desk and a pen floated off it. He was surprised that she didn't even have to use an incantation. "Ah. Remarkable, most remarkable."

"That's about all I've done." The red head ducked her head, her cheeks flushing.

"Apart from resouling Angel and closing the Hellmouth a few times." Buffy added helpfully.

Dumbledore's eyes flicked from one girl to the other. "Pardon me, but could you repeat that?"

"She...resouled a vampire and closed the Hellmouth. A few times." Dumbledore's eyes had widened with astonishment, turning back to stare at the now-crimson Witch. "I guess that is a pretty big thing to do, huh?" Buffy murmured, watching his expression.

Nodding, the Wizard drew a breath and exhaled it. "Tell me, Willow, have you had any training in magic? Apart from your friends, have you met any adults witches and wizards?"

"Amy - the rat - was a witch and her mom, I guess." The red head shrugged. "There was a guy Giles knows, Ethan."

"One moment," Dumbledore held up a hand. "Giles...Ethan...Would these two be Rupert Giles and Ethan Rayne, perhaps?"

"You know Giles?" Buffy demanded, finally lowering her weapon.

A broad, bright smile had spread across the old Wizard's face. "You could say that, Miss Summers." He replied, shaking his head with a chuckle. "Never met a pair of scallywags who could quite match them, although James and Sirius came very close."

"So you arrested them, then?" The thought seemed to amuse the Slayer and she grinned. "I always knew that playing with weird magic stuff would get them in trouble with...uh...important magic people."

"You misunderstand me, Miss Summers." The Wizard laughed. "I didn't arrest them. Quite the opposite in fact." He smiled at the memory. "I was their House Master, teacher and Head teacher when they were at our School."

"Our school?" Willow echoed.

"Yes," Dumbledore replied, his eyes dancing. "Rupert Giles and Ethan Rayne first met while attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."


	4. Teacher O' Mine

"I'm still not sure I believe this is happening."

Buffy cast a sidelong look at her friend, smothering a grin. "We're walking through the campus with an invisible Wizard from a kid's story walking beside us." She remarked. "What's unbelievable about that, Will?"

"Does nothing surprise you?" The red head mumbled, directing her next words at the wizard on her other side. "I feel really stupid talking to you when you're invisible."

"You don't need to look in my direction, you know, Willow." Dumbledore's softly-spoken voice came out of the air on Willow's left. "I can hear you perfectly well if you pretend you're talking to Miss Summers."

The red head shot an agonised look in his direction, or at least what she assumed was his direction. "But I can't...it feels stupid." She repeated adamantly. "Why don't you take off the cloak? We could say you...uh...you're here for a convention or something."

"I'm afraid I have visited this Hellmouth once before..." The Wizard's voice was as calm and unruffled as it had been when he had told them that the Harry Potter books were, in fact, real. "I had a rather unfortunate run in with some demons and I think a few of them might still be about."

Willow's eyes widened. "Oh! You might have met the Mayor!" She motioned with her hands to the Slayer. "He was like...what? A hundred years old?" She looked in Dumbledore's supposed direction again. "He turned into a big demon-snake-thing at Graduation and we blew him up. And the School."

"So you help Miss Summers fighting demons?"

"Ever since she saved me from a vampire when we were fifteen." Willow shot an affectionate grin in her friend's direction. "There was The Master...he was oogy...the three...the bezoar... hyena demons...Spike, another vampire, but he can't bite anymore...Angelus...Richard Wilkens, that's the Mayor and lots more." She shrugged. "Buffy beat 'em all."

"With help from you guys." Buffy was trying not to look embarrassed.

Dumbledore remained silent.

"Uh...Mister Dumbledore? Are you still there?"

"Yes, I am." There was an odd tone in his voice. It almost sounded like pride. "I never imagined that you would have been involved so extensively in keeping the muggle-world safe from the dark side."

"Uh...I'm guessing not many witches do it, then?"

"Not many are willing to." He admitted. "Its a very dangerous field."

Willow regarded the blank spot where he was meant to be standing. "That's what its like living on a Hellmouth." She replied quietly. "Not many people would say that something weird was going on. They'd go around with their eyes closed. After I saw what Buffy was fighting on her own, I wanted to help."

"Highly commendable of you." Dumbledore said warmly. "You are remarkably brave to aid a Slayer of all people."

"I wasn't the only one." The red head added hastily. "We're...kinda a gang. The Scoobies. We all help...me, Xander, Oz...Cordelia used to be...but she left. Now, Anya is kind of...there."

"And Giles." Buffy added. "He's my Watcher."

"I heard that he'd been assigned that most unfortunate employment by his father..." The wizard sighed. "He was such a commendable young Wizard, until that Muggle father of his had him signed up for that Watcher Institution."

Willow tilted her head. "Giles' father wasn't a wizard?"

"Not all wizards are pure-bloods...you recall Hermione?" The red-haired Witch nodded. "Young Giles was in the same situation as she was. Unfortunately, his family had ties to the Watcher's service and he was signed up without being given a choice. He was forced to leave   
Hogwarts in the middle of his final year, which is when he went through a very bad patch..."

"Demon worshipping and stuff?" Willow offered.  
"So he mentioned that?"

Buffy shook her head. "He wouldn't have told us, if the demony guy hadn't come and tried to kill him. He was really...I dunno...ashamed that he'd done something like that."

Dumbledore exhaled a sigh. "He was terribly unhappy at being forced to leave his friends at our school and using magic was the easiest way to rebel against his father's wishes. He never wanted to be a Watcher."

The Slayer nodded. "He told me something about that, years ago. He wanted to be a jet fighter pilot or a green grocer...or something..."

"That sounds like the young Rupert I remember." There was a wistful tone in the Wizard's voice. "Had he been left to pursue his own choice of career, I'm sure he could have been high in the Ministry of Magic by now."

"What was he like?" The Slayer asked.

"Rupert? An amusing young man, there was no doubt of that." She could visualise the wizard's smile and twinkling eyes. "He was very adept at potions, while Ethan - his partner in crime, I suppose you could call him - had an expertise at transfiguration. It drove Minerva... Professor MacGonogall near insane when he transfigured his classmates into pieces of furniture before she arrived in the classroom." A reminiscent chuckle escaped him. "Such a trio of mischief makers..."   
"Trio?"  
"I mean duo, of course. Numbers...such fickle things, aren't they? Always change when you least expect it." The girls exchanged bemused glances and, beneath his cloak, Dumbledore smiled to himself.

  
***  
  
Opening his front door, Giles blinked at the two girls in surprise. "What are you two doing here? I-I-I thought you had classes."

"Something important came up...can we come in?"

"O-of course!" Stepping back, the Englishman allowed both the red head and the blonde to pass him and started to close the door when it collided with something unseen but solid that released a grunt of surprise. "What on Earth...?"

"Oh! Yeah! Invisibility cloak!" Buffy winced sympathetically.

Giles spun to face her. "What did you say?" He asked warily. Behind him, the front door closed with a loud click and there was a swish of material.

"I believe she said that there was an invisibility cloak, young Giles." A merry voice spoke from behind him. The former Librarian's face rapidly went through a series of expressions and he slowly turned. "Good to see you again, young man."

"Bloody hell!" A wide smile broke on the former Watcher's face and he quickly crossed the floor, extending a hand to grasp Dumbledore's own, shaking it vigourously. "What on Earth are you doing here, Professor? Its been an age since I've seen you!"

"At least twenty years, isn't it?"

"If not more!" Running a hand through his unruly hair, he rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head. "Christ...do you want to sit down, Professor?" He motioned to his couch. "What are you doing over here?"

Dumbledore accepted the offer of a seat, settling on the green couch and smiled. "If I reveal all that I know, what could I possibly use to surprise you, dear boy?" He asked with a small suggestion of a smile. A look of understanding crossed the younger man's face. "You know, a cup of tea is a terrible thing to waste."

"I'm assuming that means you would like a cuppa?" Giles was already in the kitchen, reaching for the kettle. "One Ripper's Special Brew coming right up."

"So you really did go to Hogwarts, Giles?" Willow was looking from the Wizard on the couch to the apparent-one making tea in the kitchen.

Shooting a curious glance over at the silver-haired wizard, who simply smiled serenely back at him, his hands folded peacefully in his lap, Giles raised a brow. "I'm guessing that Professor Dumbledore told you about that?"

"And that you met Ethan there."

Giles came out of the kitchen, crossing to the living room area. "Yes," He wasn't looking at either of the girls as he spoke, gazing curiously down at Dumbledore. "It's all true. Hogwarts exists and I did study there for six and a half years."

"What I want to know," Willow walked over to the window, glancing out, then back at the two men. "Is why you contacted me, Professor Dumbledore. I mean, I know I've done witchy stuff, but if I'm right, I'm too old to go to Hogwarts or anything like that."

Dumbledore nodded, his fractional smile widening a little. "I wondered when you would start to ask questions, Willow." He said softly. "But now, I am parched and conversation is always so much better over a cup of Ripper's Brew."

"Do we want to know what's in that, Giles?" The Slayer asked, peering at a spice rack the Watcher had withdrawn from a shelf in the living room.

"Oh, just some eye of newt and toe of frog." Green eyes gleamed wickedly. "It does wonders for the digestive system."

"I so hope you're joking."

"And what would be the fun in that?"

"Giles, you give us anything with bits of newt or frog in it and I'll introduce you to Mister Pointy's point myself." 

  
  
***  
  
Admittedly, Ripper's Brew hadn't been as bad as the Watcher had made out. A carefully mixed blend of dried herbs and spices, it was a sweeter, better tasting and more potent version of coffee.

Reluctantly, both girls had to admit that it wasn't bad.

"So, Professor, are you going to tell us why you're here, yet?"

Two hours had passed since the old Wizard's arrival at Giles' house and he was looking through some of the texts that were lining the walls. Giles didn't seem impatient, but both Buffy and Willow were looking curious.

"Patience is a virtue often forgotten." The bearded wizard finally sighed, turning and laying down one of the books. He settled back on the couch, raising shoeless feet to rest on the coffee table, revealing vivid yellow socks. "So, what were you saying?"

Taking the arm of the couch, Willow and Buffy both rounding the couch to sit on his coffee table, Giles looked down at his former teacher and mentor. "What are you doing in Sunnydale? You always said you would never come back here."

"Business, of course..." Reaching inside his robes, he withdrew a sheaf of parchment bound with a scarlet ribbon. "You know how much trouble centres of mystical convergence are for the Ministry to keep tags on. Any wizard or witch here is practically invisible."

"Why?"  
Dumbledore glanced at Willow. "You remember that you sometimes have trouble centering your power?" She nodded. "There is so much power, particularly dark power, centred here that it makes identifying a single thread near impossible."

"So when someone thinks they've found a Wizard or something on a Hellmouth, they might have picked up a demon?"

"Exactly. That is why you went undetected for so long. And, no doubt, your friend Amy or any other magic practitioners."

"Wait a moment...she went undetected?" Giles leaned forward on his knees. "You're telling me that Willow should have attended Hogwarts?"

"That is exactly what I'm telling you, Rupert." Dumbledore's blue eyes met Giles'. "You've seen how powerful this young lady can be and you doubted that she could have attended Hogwarts or any of the other magical institutions?"

"But I'm not that powerful." Willow protested faintly. "Neither of my parents are witches or wizards or anything...or at least I don't think they are." She shrugged. "I hardly saw them enough to know."

"You mean your adoptive parents, I assume."

"Wh-what?"  
The younger of the two men started. "Wait a moment...surely you're not saying..."

"What do you mean adopted?" Willow demanded, looking from one to the other, panicked. "I-I don't think I'm adopted." 

Dumbledore shook his head. "I really could have done this better...your parents believe you to be theirs, as you believe them to be your parents. They were under a mind spell when you were   
delivered to them." 

"Delivered?" The witch whispered. Buffy wrapped her arms around her friend, staring at Dumbledore in suspicion and anger. 

"What's going on here?" The Slayer demanded, her eyes flashing. "Explain."

The wizard sat back with a nod. "Willow, you are the youngest daughter of a family of wizards and witches, who come from a long line of the same. Shortly after you were born, when you were barely months old, you were snatched by...well, he could only be called a Deatheater of the most cowardly variety."

"Deatheater?"   
"The followers of Voldemort." Giles explained tersely. 

"Only a few days after you were taken, Voldemort was defeated and this Deatheater - incapable of killing infants, his weakness that his Master despised - was aware that if he either kept or returned you, he could be tracked and convicted of his allegiance to the Dark Lord."

Buffy raised a hand. "Who was this Dark Lord guy and can I kick his ass?"

"I'm afraid not, Miss Summers." Dumbledore managed to find a faint smile for her. "He was defeated less than a year ago and this time, we hope for good." He turned back to the shell-shocked witch. "As for you, Willow, he knew if he handed you on to his sister, who was in   
hiding here, you would never be found until it was too late to capture him. They went to a lot of effort and, after a lot of dark magic was pulled off by the sister, you were claimed as the child of   
Ira and Sheila Rosenberg, both of them believing you to be their, in spite of the fact that they were both infertile and that your 'mother' had never been pregnant."

Willow shook her head. "But my parents...they...I don't understand." She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "If they're not my parents, who are?"

"Perhaps you have read about them." He said softly, reaching over to take her hands between his. "You're the youngest of eight children, all of whom have red hair...Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred,   
George, Ron, Ginny and you." She stared at him in disbelief. "Your parents are called Arthur and Molly Weasley."

"Bloody hell!" Giles exploded, half-laughing, half-shouting, slapping a hand against his thigh. "I should have known! Arthur and Molly!" He saw the look of confusion and worry on the red head's face. "Wonderful people, Willow. Wonderful."

"Are...you're serious? I-I'm related to the Weasleys?"

"Absolutely serious, Willow." Dumbledore replied.

"And you couldn't wish for a better set of parents, Willow!" Giles exclaimed, a broad smile on his face. He got to his feet, hurrying over to a dusty pile of books and picking one up. He withdrew a picture from the cover and returned to the table, handing the picture to the red-haired girl.

Her hand shaking, Willow took the picture with the attitude of someone picking up a poisonous snake, looking at Buffy for comfort. Both of them looked down at the picture, in which three youths in their late-teens bobbed on broomsticks.

"Oh my God!" Buffy squeaked. "He waved! One of them waved!"

"And they wonder why I hate muggle cameras." Dumbledore murmured.

Willow was staring at the picture, hardly daring to believe what she was seeing. One of the laughing teens was clearly Giles, his hair curly and wind-tossed. The one to his right, she could see resembled Ethan.

The third one was the one that made her come up short.

Shoulder-length, silky red hair flew loose around his face. He had a broad grin on his face and his features looked strangely familiar to her. Her fingers rose to touch her own distinct nose and mouth, her brow wrinkling.

"Is...is this him?" She asked.

"Art?"   
"Don't tell me you knew him too." Buffy groaned. 

Giles half-smiled in reminiscence. "Knew him? That poncy little git stole Molly from me when we were in third year." He sat down on the edge of the coffee table next to Willow, squeezing her knee reassuringly. "If this is right, Willow, you've just been given possibly the best parents in the World."

"You would say that." Dumbledore chuckled.

"Well, I can't exactly besmirch the name of the Third Musketeer."

"Can I say huh?"

"Ethan, Art and I...we were the equivalent of the Scoobies in our year at School. We were called the three Musketeers by the staff who liked us and the Three Wise Monkeys by the ones who were at the receiving end of the tricks." Giles shook his head, taking the picture from Willow and looking at it with a sad smile. "Those were the happy days...before the whole mess with Voldemort...and before my dad stepped in..."

"You mean...I'm the daughter of a friend that you went to school with, who stole your girlfriend, who is my mom or something and that you have a moving picture of, flying on a broomstick with?" Willow managed to force the sentence out.

"HOI! When do I get some bloody blood!"

Giles nodded in response to Willow's question. "And its actually a decent picture of us. Those are rare things to have." He got to his feet. "And I also have a chained-up vampire in my bath, which is also a very rare thing to have. Very in, this season, or so I've heard." 

"And I thought there were no more surprises in store for today." Dumbledore remarked with amusement. "Living on a Hellmouth with a Slayer and missing Witch and a vampire in the bath... that is certainly something to have posted on the bulletin board at the Ministry, as your current circumstances."

"Professor," Giles called from the kitchen. "You're in the presence of Buffy Summers and no doubt, the rest of the group affectionately known as the Scoobies soon enough...you'll find that there aren't enough hours in the day for all the surprises you'll receive."

  



	5. Werewolves and Wizards and Demons Oh my...

"Giles, there's a very old man in weird clothes on your couch."

"Anya, I'm aware of this." Giles' smile looked a little strained, as he motioned the former demon and her boyfriend into the living room. Willow and Buffy were already present. "I want you all to meet Professor Dumbledore, my former Headmaster."

Xander peered at the wizard. "You must be really old if you taught G-Man."

"Please don't call me that." Giles winced.

"Actually," Dumbledore put in with a chuckle. "I am rather old...I have past my one and a half Centennial." He smiled. "if you count that as old."

"Pfft." Anya made a dismissive gesture. "That's nothing!"

"Indeed?"

"I'm eleven hundred and twenty one."

"And you are looking very good for your age, my dear." The former demon's face split in a smile, her cheeks flushing. The old Wizard winked at her, turning to look at the young man who had joined the group. 

"He said I look good for my age." Anya tugged on Xander's sleeve, grinning. 

The dark-haired youth nodded. "So I heard." He replied, suspiciously eyeing the wizard. "So what are you doing here, buddy?"

Willow spoke up. "Xander, you remember all those times we used to pretend I was adopted, just cos my parents were never there?" Her lifelong friend nodded. "It...uh...it turns out that we were right."

"Huh?"

"Pretty much what I said." The red head grinned weakly. "It gets crazier. You know those Harry Potter books?"

"I was reading those." Anya put in. "I want to know how a muggle got hold of so much information, unless a wizard was the one who told her everything." Xander shushed her with a gesture, looking down at his seated friend.

"What about those books, Will?"

"They're...uh...real."

"As in 'Hansel and Gretel are a big ugly demon who wants to kill us all' real?"

"That's what I said." Buffy held up a hand. "And apparently, they're not evil and demony, no matter what some critics are saying." She nodded to the wizard. "Professor Dumbledore is the headmaster in the books."

"Which brings us back to the whole 'what are you doing here?' question."

"I have been sent by the Ministry of Magic," The bearded old man replied with a smile. "To find out if Miss Rosenberg would be interested and willing to met her biological family at some point in the future."

Xander raised a brow. "So you're not joking about the whole being adopted thing?"

"And he wanted to meet you guys cos you're muggles and you still help me." Buffy added.

"We're what-tles?"

"Muggles."

"Uh..."

"Non-magic people." Willow filled in. She looked up as the door opened, allowing a small, colourful-haired young man to enter. "Oz!"

"Hey Willow." Stoic-faced, the youth joined the group, casting his eye over Dumbledore with interest. "Huh."

"Professor, this is Oz...he's my boyfriend and a werewolf."

"The werewolf that Miss Summers tranquilised last night?" Buffy nodded and the wizard smiled, offering a hand to the guitarist, which Oz shook without even raising a brow. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise."

"So, Willow," Dumbledore turned back to her. "What do you intend to do?"

The red head looked at him. "I-I don't know. Do they want to meet me?"

"Your parents are hoping to meet you." The wizard replied. "Your siblings have just been told about your existence, but are very curious about you as well. Of course, there is no hurry for you to do so."

"How would I meet them? Would they come here?"

"I think that it would probably be easier for you to come and see some of the wizarding world in England, if we can arrange transport for you." He replied, eyes twinkling. "That is, if you're interested in seeing the magical parts of your homeland."

"You mean Willow is actually English?" Anya pulled a face. "I knew there was something weird about her."

"Anya," Xander cautioned gently. Then he turned to his friend. "Is she right? Are you English, like librarian guy?" He motioned to the indignant-looking Giles.

"Apparently." The red head shrugged helplessly. "I-I would like to see some of the magical places, but I can't now...I'm at college and I can't stop going or anything, so could I maybe come and visit in the vacation?"

"That would be perfectly all right." Dumbledore nodded, reaching over to squeeze the youngest Weasley's hand. "I'll send an owl for you to use, should you need to correspond with me between those times."

"An owl?"

"They are what we use to deliver our mail, Mr. Harris." Dumbledore explained patiently. "It usually guarantees it won't get lost."

"Seriously?" Xander grinned. "That sounds kinda neat."

"It is certainly a good deal simpler that trying to teleport them." Dumbledore shook his head with a sigh. "The number of important documents that I have had spontaneously combust on arrival has been quite ridiculous."

Giles raised a questioning hand. "Professor, if Willow is remaining here until vacation, what shall we do about bringing her over to the Leaky Cauldron? After all, it is frightfully hard to find if-if-if you don't know what you're looking for."

"I'm sure I can arrange access for a small number of muggles into Diagon Alley," He looked around at them. "Although something tells me that this particular group of muggles would be quite able to pass into the magical world without too much difficulty."

"Indeed..." Giles looked around at them with a smile. "They have all been involved in magic in some shape or form."

"And I was a witch." Anya put in helpfully. "That's how I ended up as a vengeance demon. I was doing a curse or two and D'Hoffryn caught up with me." She frowned. "It must have been before Hogwarts was started, because I remember hearing about it getting built. I still have my old wand."

"As do I." Giles added with a small smile. "Oak, fourteen inches, unicorn hair."

Anya blinked at him. "That's weird! Mine was oak, twelve inches with unicorn hair as well."

"And with only a thousand years in between." Dumbledore commented with a trace of amusement. "I can't imagine of all the millions of wizards in a thousand years, many would have that combination. Not at all."

"You guys really use wands?" Xander inquired. "Why doesn't Willow have a wand or something? And why they have unicorn hairs in them?"

Dumbledore chuckled, looking at Giles. "I see what you mean about them being rather perceptive, Rupert." He said, then returned his attention to Xander. "Willow doesn't have a wand, because she has never been measured for one. Most wands have a core made up of a part of a mystical creature. Some have phoenix feathers, others griffen fur. Rupert and your friend both have ones with a hair taken from the tail of a unicorn."

"Hold on a second...you're telling me unicorns are real?" Buffy looked from Anya and Giles to Dumbledore. "Nobody told me that unicorns are real."

"Most people wouldn't believe that werewolves are real either." Oz put in quietly, with a look at the Slayer.

"I guess." She nodded, then repeated questioningly. "But unicorns are real? What else? Dragons? Giants? Fairies? Elves? Trolls?" These were said with a laugh that faded as Dumbledore nodded. "You're serious?"

"I can introduce you to a rather charming half-giant in my employ, as well as some houselves, should you need proof." The Wizard smiled. "We also have some centaurs in the forest, a cave troll or two still locked in the dungeons somewhere..."

"What about hobbits?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "I'm afraid that's from a different set of books, Mr. Harris. As far as e are aware, hobbits do not exist. They may, but not that we know of and we all know that they are, after all, very private creatures." The wizard smiled slightly. "Although I have heard from Gandalf that they make exceptional cups of tea."

"Okay, you're confusing me."

"That's what he does best." Giles said. He, too, was smiling slightly. "And you must admit, Xander, that confusing you isn't the most challenging of tasks."

"Hey!"

The small group laughed at Xander's irritation and he was quick to join in, but something said earlier had made Willow realise something.

"Professor, will I have to get a wand?"

"It is likely."

Willow frowned thoughtfully. "If I give you a substance from a powerful mystical creature," She asked. "Can you have it put into a wand for me and would it work?"

Dumbledore spread his hands in a shrug. "It all depends on what the substance is, which kind of mystical creature it came from and how powerful that creature is." He raised a brow. "What did you have in mind?"

Reaching behind Buffy, the red head tugged one of her friend's hairs loose. "Ow! Will!"

"Sorry, Buffy, but I needed it." She grinned weakly, then held out the blonde hair to the old Wizard. "Would this work?"

"I'm certain it would," Dumbledore carefully took the hair, winding it around his fingertip into a small skein and tucking it into some recess in his robes. "I'll see that Ollivander gets it and see what he makes of it."

"So I'm a mystical creature?" Suddenly, the loss of a single hair didn't seem to upset the Slayer very much. "That's kinda neat..." Then, her face fell. "As long as the wand doesn't go and blow up or something like that. If it does, it's not my fault!"

"Don't worry, Miss Summers." Dumbledore said. "The wand only acts as it's owner wishes it to. If Willow blows something up, then its because she chose to or because the wand is not suited to her. It isn't the fault of the core power."

The Slayer blew a sigh of relief. "Okay. I can deal with that."

The wizard looked around at the small group, then at Willow. "Is there anything you wish to know about your family, Willow?" He asked. "Do you wish to get in contact them before you meet them?"

"Uh...can you tell me the regular stuff about them?" The red head asked, holding her boyfriend's hand. "How old are they all? What are they like?"

Dumbledore smiled. "I'm assuming you know a little about them from the books. You are the youngest and William, or Bill, is the eldest. He's eleven years older than you, a respected treasure hunter for Gringotts and is married to a young lady named Fleur."

"Charles is next in line and is seven years older than you. He and Ron work in Romania with the wild dragons." Dumbledore steepled his fingers thoughtfully. "Then we have Percy, five years your elder, and employee of the Ministry. Very responsible and oddly hard-working."

"Fred and George I'm sure you have heard of. They are 3 years older than you and are quite notorious pranksters." He smiled faintly. "And – unbeknownst to your mother – they have taken over one of the most infamous Joke Shops in the wizarding world."

"Second to last, there is Ron, a year older than you and your sister. He and Charlie are very alike. Then, we have your twin sister." Dumbledore's face broke into a broad, genuine smile. "A lovely young lady and she just married Harry Potter several months ago."

"Wait a second...Harry Potter is my brother-in-law?"

"You mean he survives the rest of the books?" Anya demanded. "Now, I can't read the rest of them, since I know what happens!"

"Yes, Willow. Your twin is married to Harry Potter, making him your brother-in-law." The old wizard smiled. "So you can see that you have a rather large, extended family." Willow nodded mutely. "And as I was asking earlier, do you wish to get in contact with them?"

She chewed her lip nervously for a moment. "Would it be by owl post?"

"If you so wish."

She lowered her eyes for a moment, studying her hands. "I think it would be nice to know them a bit, before I meet them." She said briefly. "But what shall I tell my parents here? I mean, they don't even know I'm studying here, but...I need to tell them something."

"It's entirely up to you, Willow, although it is possible that they have become so distant because the spell has worn off since they got you." The Wizard spoke quietly, pensively. "Either something happened to the spell caster or they thought it no longer necessary to hold the spell in place."

The red head frowned. "Who was it that cast the spell...I mean, who was it that stole me and who was the one that gave me to my parents?"

"The one who took you was a wretch by the name of Peter Pettigrew." Dumbledore replied quietly. "His sister, Sheila, had relocated here because she believed she had the strength to use the powers of the Hellmouth. Fortunately, she overestimated her abilities." He smiled slightly. "She was no stronger than the average Witch, so nothing serious occurred. The biggest test of her powers came when her brother delivered you to her and they both had to combine their minimal talents to adjust your parents' memories." 

Willow frowned. "I don't know anyone called Sheila Pettigrew." She remarked, her brow wrinkling in thought.

"It is possible that she changed her name." Dumbledore admitted. "However, whatever happened to her, it doesn't matter anymore. The Ministry has found you and nothing she could do would be able to hide you. She simply doesn't have enough power."

The red head nodded. "So, no matter what happens when you go back, the Ministry of Magic will know where I am?"

"Exactly." 

"Can I write a letter for you to take back with you, then? I mean, it might take me a while, but I want to send something..."

Dumbledore chuckled. "I'm sure that will be fine." He folded his hands in his lap. "Professor McGonagall is, no doubt, keeping everything under control at Hogwarts, while I am here, so there is no hurry."

"Old MacGonagall is still there?" Giles shook his head with a laugh. "I thought she would have retired after she got rid of Ethan, Art and I."

"She's had two pairs that were almost as bad as you, since then, Rupert." Dumbledore reminded him jovially. "You just prepared her for the worst that any student could possibly throw at her."

Giles sniffed in mock-disdain. "I wasn't the one that turned her into a broomstick and flew her out for the Quidditch game."

"No, you were the genius behind it, though." Dumbledore was laughing, a deep chuckle. "You would suggest something that sounded mildly amusing and both of those young rogues would leap at the chance to play it out."

"And McGonagall only let us off because she was the broom that won the game." 

"Oh yes..." Dumbledore released a soft boom of laughter. "I've never seen a Seeker's Broom actually spot the Snitch for him and take him to it. Poor Arthur. I'm not certain he was even sure what was going on."

"Wait a minute...is this the same Professor McGonagall in the books?"

"Indeed it is, Willow."

"And you," She turned to Giles. "Turned her into a broomstick?"

"It wasn't me!" Giles protested with a laugh. "Ethan was the expert at transfiguration. He caught her off-guard and the next thing you know, we have a broomstick in front of us. I never imagined he would be able to pull it off so quickly."

"Whatever happened to the old boy?"

Giles' smile faded. "You really don't want to know." Dumbledore nodded, the twinkle fading briefly from his eyes.

"Well," He struggled to his feet, steering his robes around the various limbs that were sticking out here, there and everywhere. "I ought to get back to the Motel and pay my bills. I have an owl or two to send before I return to Hogwarts. I'll come by here again this evening, if you have the letter ready, Willow."

"Sir," The red head stood up, holding out a hand to the wizard, which Dumbledore shook with a warm smile. "Can I ask one thing more?"

"Of course, child."

"What's my name?"

Dumbledore glanced down briefly, then met her eyes. "They called you Sarah, child. If you choose to keep this name or the name you have now, it is up to you."

"Thank you, Professor."

"You're welcome."


	6. A Letter from the Lost

Molly Weasley had just put the kettle on when she heard a 'ping' sound from the fire in the hearth and looked around to see the broadly-smiling face of Albus Dumbledore looking up at her.

"Professor!"

"Good afternoon, Molly."

"Oh! Do you want to come in for a cup of tea, Albus? I just put the kettle on."

He raised his eyes to the large copper kettle that was dangling over his head. "I had noticed, Molly." He said with a small smile. 

The matronly women uttered a squeak of surprise, then hurriedly hoisted the kettle from the hook that was holding it over the crackling fire. "Sorry, Albus," She reached down to help him out of the flames. "I forgot that you wouldn't walk through it."

"Not to worry, my dear." He dusted himself down with a smile, straightening his velvet hat. "It is actually quite an enjoyable sensation and I have heard rumours that it does wonders for the hair."

Mrs. Weasley stared blankly at him as if he had grown a second head, then laughed faintly. "So, I was making a cup of tea, Albus…would you like one?"

"It would be impolite of me to decline." He took one of the seats at the table, as Mrs. Weasley manhandled the kettle back into place on the hook. Moving to the cupboards, she hummed to herself, as she gathered two cups and saucers.

She returned to the table to see him placing a white envelope on the surface. One of the cups slipped from her hands and smashed on the floor, the colour flooding from her face.

"Are you all right, Molly?" He started to rise, but the plump witch motioned for him to sit, shakily sinking into the chair opposite him. Absently, she tugged out her wand and pointed it.

"Reparo." The teacup's shattered pieces flew together and she made another gesture with the wand. "Accio." It flew to her hand She placed it carefully beside the one on the table, her eyes still on the letter. 

There was no way that the letter was from anyone in the Wizarding World. No one in their World used plain white sheets or envelopes. It was always parchment of varying thickness and colour.

"Is that…?"

"From Willow."

Molly's face creased in confusion. "Willow?"

Dumbledore nodded, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "That was the name that they gave her." He smiled faintly. "If I remember correctly, Pettigrew had a wand made of willow and very little imagination."

"It's a very pretty name." Her hands were shaking, the tip of her wand drumming on the tabletop, her tear-filled eyes still fixed on the envelope. "Is she pretty? And well? Is she well?"

The older wizard nodded, reaching into the depths of his robes again. "I thought you would ask, so I had got some photographs from her and had some taken as well." He produced the sheaf of pictures and handed them to Willow's mother.

Unable to hide the tears rolling down her cheeks, Molly looked down at the pictures, the muggle ones at the top of the pile.

"Is this her?" She asked, even though she didn't really have to. She could see that Willow had inherited her father's smooth, silky hair and distinct features. In the first pictures, the red head was alone, but as Molly started moving through the pile, more faces joined her.

"Those are her friends." Dumbledore said softly.

"She looks so happy…so very happy…and her friends…you met them as well?" The main faces that seemed to stand out again and again were those of a blonde-haired girl, a dark-haired boy and a slightly older boy whose wild hair seemed to be different colours in every picture.

"I did." He nodded. "They're a good group and love your daughter as much as she loves each of them."

"And they know…about us, I mean? About our world?"

"There is little doubt that they knew of our world before I ever got there." The old Wizard said softly. "The girl in the pictures is Buffy Summers, Willow's best friend and the Slayer." Molly's eyes rose to him in surprise. Dumbledore chuckled, nodding to the other two. "The dark-haired young fellow is Xander, her lifelong friend and the other is Oz."

"Goodness! Surely this isn't…" Her fingers touched the picture and she shook her head in disbelief. "She knows Rupert?"

"She does." Dumbledore watched the smile of reminiscence spreading across the plump little Witch's face. "He was Buffy's Watcher and a kind of substitute father figure for her. Her adoptive parents were…have become less than attentive to her, so she became solidly involved in that small group."

"They all know about the Slayer as well?" Molly raised her brows. "I thought she was meant to work in isolation, in case the Muggle world realised that there was some kind of magic involved in her."

"That's the amusing thing." Dumbledore said, motioning to one of the pictures taken with a Wizard Camera, in which the little group was armed to the teeth with swords, axes and stakes, wearing broad grins and chatting to each other. "They help her to fight against the Dark Side."

The shrill whistle of the kettle drowned out whatever word Molly had said, but Dumbledore could lip-read and couldn't help smiling. Such language, he knew, was a very rare thing for a woman like Molly.

For several minutes, she rattled around, making the tea and sending biscuits flying from the jars and onto a plate on the table. She seemed to have calmed herself in the process and, by the time she returned to the table with the teapot and milk, she was able to find a smile, albeit a slightly strained one.

"Milk?" She cleared her throat, after a rather embarrassing squeak escaped her and repeated more steadily. "Milk, Albus?"

"Please." He waited until she had poured both tea and milk, aware of the shaking of her hands. It was more than a little obvious, considering the fact that the lid of the teapot was rattling.

"Were you serious?" She burst out, slamming the teapot down forcefully on the table, lest it shivered its way out of her trembling hands.

"That your teenage daughter has been involved in defense against the dark arts since she was thirteen and has saved the World several times?" He asked mildly, sipping his tea. "Yes, I was completely serious."

"S-saved the World?"

"You sound surprised." He couldn't prevent the smile from spreading across his face this time. "She and her friends have closed the Hellmouth and fought the demons that thrive upon it for the past four years." He chuckled at the memory of Anya. "One of her friends is even romantically linked with a former vengeance demon."

"Goodness…" The little Witch hastily gulped down a mouthful of scalding tea, looking at the pictures spread on the table, then at the envelope that sat – unopened – in front of her. "Albus, would you…I…"

"If you wish me to stay while you read the letter, I can, Molly."

She nodded, unable to form the words as she reached for the letter. Her hand was shaking so violently, she could barley pick it up, unsteadily tearing the envelope open and withdrawing the single sheet of paper.

Slowly unfolding the crisp sheet, she looked down at the page, a weak smile breaking on her lips. "She has beautiful hand-writing." She murmured quietly. "Gets that from me."

"I'm sure." Dumbledore nodded, as the red-haired witch started to read the letter written to her by her long-lost daughter.

***

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

I don't know if I should call you mom and dad are what, but if that's what you'd like me to do, I guess I can. I'm called Willow, but Professor Dumbledore told me that you named me Sarah. It's a nice name.

Since I can't come to meet you yet, because I have to finish my school year, Professor Dumbledore thought it would be a good idea for me to write to you and tell you a bit about me, so we can keep in contact by Owl.

I guess you know how old I am and everything like that, so I should probably tell you what I'm like. I'm a student at U.C. Sunnydale and I live with my friend Buffy (she says I can tell you she's the Slayer, cos you're my mom and Professor Dumbledore probably already told you). 

I always thought and maybe kind of hoped that I was adopted. It explained why my parents, my adopted parents, always seemed distant from me when I was young. They were never close to me like everyone else's parents were to their own children and when Professor Dumbledore told me that I was adopted, I was kinda shocked that it was actually true, but I also feel like I knew it anyway. 

Xander (my best friend since Kindergarten) and I used to joke about it. Both of us wanted to have families like in the stories and movies. Neither of us every expected it to happen, but now, I have a proper family (Xander wants to know if there's somewhere he can sign up for it too).

Anyway, I should tell you about my other friends too. Buffy has been my friend for four years and I've been helping her fight vampires and stuff, because it didn't seem fair that she had to do it on her own. She's nice, super-hero strong and way cooler than I am.

Xander is great. He's been my best friend since forever, along with Jesse (Jesse died just after I met Buffy. He got turned into a vampire, but Buffy saved the rest of us) and he's not at school with us, but he's still one of our best friends.

Then there's Oz. Oz is Daniel Osbourne, my boyfriend. He's also a werewolf, but don't be freaked! His baby nephew bit him and it turned out his nephew was a baby werewolf (a puppy…how cute!) and since then, I get a wolfie boyfriend to lock in a cage three nights a month. He's a really nice, cute werewolf, when he's in his cage and everything. He's never hurt anyone.

Anya is a sort-of friend. She started dating Xander, after getting turned back into a human again, after screwing up at her job. She was a Vengeance Demon for more than a thousand years and I guess she's kind of okay, once you get used to all the bluntness and rudeness.

Giles says I shouldn't mention him, but since you're in the photos, I guess I have an excuse, if he asks why you know he's here. He's the one who took care of all of us, really. He made sure we didn't get in trouble and got all of us through School, in between helping save the World. He says he knew you both at school and I don't know if that's good or bad.

Anyway, I have to finish this now. Professor Dumbledore will be leaving soon and he's bringing this letter to you. I hope you are well and all of the rest of the family are as well (It still feels weird being told that I'm related to people that everyone I know thinks are fictional).

Take care,

Willow Rosenberg (Sarah Weasley)

***

Molly laid the letter down, tears pouring uncontrollably down her face. The wizard across the table reached out to squeeze her hand gently, pulling a bar of chocolate out of one of his pockets. 

"I know this probably won't make much difference to how you're feeling just now, Molly." He said softly. "But Willow thought you might need some." He laid a bar of Hershey's on the table and gave her hand another squeeze. "It's a gift."

"She's a good girl, isn't she, Albus?" The witch whispered softly.

"Yes, Molly." He nodded, with a gentle smile. "She is."


	7. Family Revelations

****

The Eighth Weasley - Chapter Seven

Family Revelations

Rupert Giles was tidying his files and folders around his living room when a 'ping' from the fireplace made him look around, his mouth falling open in shock at the sight of a head sitting in green flames that he certainly didn't recall lighting.

"A-Art?"

"Rupert."

Dropping all the books he had in his arms on the coffee table in the middle of his living room, Giles crossed the floor and knelt by the fireplace immediately, staring at the face of his long-time friend, which looked a peculiar shade of green thanks to the flames licking around his ears. "Good God, Art, its been forever!"

"And then some, eh, Rupert?" Arthur Weasley smiled a little. "I hear you've been looking after one of ours..."

"Willow," he smiled in return, still studying the face of Weasley. "I don't know how I could have missed that she was one of your brood. She has your nose and mouth and that shocking hair of yours."

"Now, that's good to hear?"

"What?"

"That she's as good-looking as her old man," said Arthur, a twinkle in his eye.

"Poor kid that she is," Giles smirked. It was replaced with a genuine smile. "Art..."

"Yes, it has been far too long since we talked."

The Watcher chuckled, sitting down on the edge of the hearth and removing his spectacles to clean them. "You know me far too well, Art," he remarked. "You still can answer my questions before I ask."

"We were friends, Rupert."

"_Were_?"

A strange expression crossed Arthur Weasley's face. "You never actually told me if you forgave me, Rupe," he said quietly. "I still see you as one of my best friends, but I don't know if you..."

"Art Weasley, you bloody plonker..."

"Rupert, I am sorry you know."

"I forgave you the minute I saw you together, when you didn't think I was looking, Art," Giles said, looking down at the floor between his slippered feet. There was a note of sadness in his voice. "I saw the way you looked at her and the way she looked at you..."

"It doesn't stop me being sorry for not telling you sooner, Rupe," Arthur said. "You deserved more than that. You were my best mate," he paused, then added with a tired smile. "Our best mate."

A silence fell for a moment.

"How is she?"

"Molly? Wonderful," replied Arthur. "I mean, she's had eight of my kids and she's still as batty as she ever was."

"If having eight of your rugrats didn't make her crazier, nothing would, Art."

"You make eight sound like a big number, Rupert," Arthur laughed. "How many do you have?"

"Well, I do seem to have picked up a few with rather...absent parents. Willow is one of them, along with Buffy and Xander...and I suppose Anya would qualify as well..."

Arthur's brow furrowed. "Rupert, I meant your children. Didn't you ever get hitched and have a flock of mini-Ruperts?"

"Me? Have children? You must be bloody joking!"

"You never settled down?"

Giles shook his head, one hand rising to rub his chest. It was feeling strangely tight and this subject...it was one he hadn't dared to broach for some time. "Never had the urge to, what with watcher training and all..."

"Rupert."

"I'm serious, Art."

"So am I, Rupert."

Giles looked away from his friend's face at the glasses that were dangling from his hand, his fingers absently swinging them back and forwards. "What do you want me to say?" he asked, his voice strained.

"I want to know that it wasn't because of what happened between all of us," Arthur said. "Rupert, if I took away your chance of being happy, when I took Molly, I want to know..."

"Art, don't be a bloody arse! Yes, I loved Molly, but don't think I haven't had my share of women over the years..."

"I heard about you and Ethan getting involved with those...people."

His arms resting on his upraised knees, folded over his chest in front of him, Giles rested his forehead on his crossed wrists. "Yes, I got involved with demons and my choices of additional friends weren't exactly good."

"Ethan always was a bad influence."

"It was my idea," Giles whispered wearily. "I needed to do something...something to piss my wonderful father off and to...to take my mind off the fact that you...that she and you were in love with each other, whereas, I was besotted and had no one..."

"Rupert..."

Turning back to the fire, Giles pointed a finger at Arthur. "You even think about starting to apologise again and I swear I'll come over there just to beat your sorry arse into submission."

"Nice to see you haven't lost your edge, Rupert."

"Sarcastic git," Giles retorted. "And for your information, I have had several women involved in my life since I last saw you, although there was a rather... uncomfortable occasion involving cursed chocolate and a police car..." Giles paused, then grinned weakly. "Somehow, whenever I end up shagging someone in a strange place, it's all down to Ethan..."

"In a pleaze-car?" Arthur laughed. "Good grief, Rupert..."

"Not in a police-car, Art. On. There's a big difference...comfortable seats for one thing," Giles corrected, chuckling. "Do you have time for the full, messy story?"

"I have all the time you need, Rupert. We have a lot to catch up on."

Giles nodded. "Just to warn you, it's going to be one helluva bumpy ride, Art."

"I suspected it might be, Rupert," Weasley nodded. "So, tell me about this incident with the chocolate and pleaze-car."

***

"A Slayer?"

Even Percy looked impressed. "Our baby sister is a friend of the Vampire Slayer?" he grinned broadly. "That'll certainly be something to tell the chaps at work."

The whole Weasley family had gathered again, after the arrival of the letter and photographs from America. Dumbledore had waited until Arthur returned from work before leaving The Burrow, to return to Hogwarts.

By the time all of the children had gathered, Molly had managed to calm herself down, although her smile seemed to be locked on her face.

Most of the family was able to take time off work again, to see what was going on with their long-lost sibling.

Even Harry had finally decided he should get back to Quidditch Training with the England Team, canceling the next two years of the Honeymoon for training for the next World Cup, which meant he and Ginny had been easier to track down.

"She lives in the same dormitory as her at college, actually," Molly passed around the bundle of photographs with a smile. Her husband had his arm around her shoulders and was smiling as broadly as his wife was. "Apparently, she has helped that Slayer – and two other Slayers as well – to save the World several times."

Charlie raised a brow curiously. "She helps the Slayer? She fights against the Dark Arts and everything?" he asked, surprised. "Does she do the fighting or spells and things? With no training or anything?"

"She does a little of both and she's very good at what she does, according to Professor Dumbledore," Molly nodded, her smile widening. "She doesn't even have a wand to use, but she can still do many of the spells and charms through sheer mind control."

"Blimey," Fred muttered, impressed. 

"How could she help two other Slayers, as well?" Fleur, Bill's French wife asked. "I thought there was only one Slayer at a time and the next only became a Slayer when the one before... uh... died?" 

Molly nodded. "Albus tried to explain it to me, but I'm not quite sure I full understand it," she frowned and then said. "Her friend, Buffy, was destined to die and she did, but their other friend, Xander, resuscitated her."

"Rough deal," Charlie winced.

Molly nodded, then continued, "However, because she actually died, even for those few seconds, the next Slayer was activated and ended up fighting by her side. That Slayer was killed and another one was called. I think they said something about her being in jail now."

"They seem to die off pretty quickly," Ron noted with a grimace. "How long has her friend been the Slayer now?"

"I think they said something about five years to Dumbledore, which is some kind of record."

"What kind of things has Sarah done to help them, then?"

This time, their parents exchanged closed looks. "Should we tell them everything, Molly?" Arthur murmured so softly that they had to strain to hear what he was saying. "We don't want them being afraid of her, do we?"

"And if that doesn't make us paranoid about her, nothing will," Ron noted dryly. "You have to learn to whisper more quietly, dad."

Molly laughed faintly, then nodded to Arthur reassuringly. "Albus did say something about her... er... successfully placing a very powerful curse on a vampire, giving him a soul, when she had just come out of a coma," Several mouths fell open. 

"Isn't that...of the Ancient Magic?" Fleur asked faintly. "The kind of magic it takes many years to build up to doing?"

"That it is," Bill nodded. The colour seemed to have flooded from his face. "How old was she when she did this?"

Molly wound her hands together in her flowered apron. "Just after she turned seventeen," she replied quietly. The stunned looks around the living room grew even more so. "Apparently, many of her magical abilities have been developed in the last two or three years and she is almost entirely self-taught."

"Where did she get hold of any of the Ancient Magics, though?" Percy exclaimed, shaking his head in a combination of shock, disbelief and protest. "The spells were meant to have been lost some time in the last century!"

Arthur lowered his head briefly. "It was from a Gypsy, who managed to translate it using a computer. She was killed before she could do the spell herself and, even if she had tried, I don't believe she could have succeeded."

"Uh...how do you know that, dad?" Ron asked.

"I went to school with the Gypsy's boyfriend," Arthur replied softly. "Apparently, he's been watching over Sarah for almost four years, without even realising it. I got in touch with him this afternoon and he told me all about the situation," He looked around at them. "Never let it be said that this Slayer has not suffered."

"What do you mean, dad?" Charlie inquired.

"She fell in love with a vampire who was cursed with a soul," Arthur felt Molly squeeze his hand comfortingly. "He lost the soul, because of their love and he killed my friend's lover, the Gypsy woman," A pained look crossed the man's face. "The Slayer was forced to kill him, to save the World, but not before Sarah had managed to recurse him. None of them believed it would work, because Sarah was so weak, but it did work and Buffy had to send the one she loved to Hell."

"Poor child," Molly murmured sadly. "Sarah must have nearly killed herself doing that kind of spell,"she shook her head and sighed. "That's not all our little one has done, though," she continued. "She closed the Hellmouth on more than one occasion, which even Dumbledore would never have tried doing."

"Why not?" Ginny asked weakly, her head still spinning from the revelations about her twin sister's abilities.

"The mystical energy around a Hellmouth is very unstable, Ginny," Percy replied, a look of stunned awe on his face. "A lot of Wizards and Witches can't control their power enough to perform even basic spells there."

"And our baby sister can close the Hellmouth, without any training at all..." George added, with an awed whistle. "Something tells me that we've got someone who could even rival Bill and Perce's record for O.W.L.S."

"If the Professor was right, she's actually very similar to Hermione in personality," their father said with an indulgent smile. "She's incredibly clever, very quick on her feet, faces danger in spite of fear and is very powerful." A smile of pride crossed his lips. "She faced demons and vampires to save her friends."

"Better make sure those two don't meet up, then, eh?" Ron forced a grin. "I mean, I thought one Hermione was bad, but two...and this one related to me..." He shook his head. "I thought I'd finally got away from that kind of thing."

"I was actually quite looking forward to introducing them," Molly gave her youngest son a pointed look. "She doesn't know anything about our world and who better to teach her about it than Hermione? She also had a Muggle background, remember, and is probably the cleverest witch that we know."

"Good idea, mum," Bill nodded in approval. "Its going to be well weird for her to come into this world, even though she's used to magic," He gave his mother a lop-sided grin. "Mind you, if she can control her power on a Hellmouth, anywhere else is going to be easy, isn't it?"

Ginny had received the handful of photographs and was flicking through them. "She doesn't look much like me, does she?"

"She's taken my stunning good looks," Arthur said with a smile. "You look like your mother, but Sarah...Willow...she looks more like me. She even has the straight hair that I used to have," He fingered his bald scalp and the remaining strands of silky red hair around his crown. "You've got your mum's curls."

"Question. What do we call her?" Harry inquired. "Sarah or Willow?"

Arthur and Molly exchanged glances. "Well, she's used to being called Willow, so I think it would be easier calling her that, unless she wants to be called Sarah," Molly replied. "And Willow is such a pretty name as well."

"Will she becoming to see us soon?" Ginny looked up from the photographs hopefully. "I'd like to meet her."

"She's studying just now, so Professor Dumbledore says she will try to come over this summer. He also said he may let her bring some of her friends over. Her Slayer friend was very interested in Diagon Alley and wants to see what Wizards...er...Malls, I think she called them, looked like." 

Fleur received the pictures from the young Mrs. Potter. "Your daughter is a very pretty girl, is she not?" she said, examining the faces in the photographs and directing her words at Molly. She looked at the dark-haired boy and blonde who were hugging the red head in one of the pictures. "Is this her boyfriend?"

Molly peered over at the picture. "Oh, no. That's Xander, one of her best friends. They were best friends since they were toddlers. She's not dating him," she paused for dramatic effect, then added with a wicked smile. "And she says that she's dating a werewolf."

"A werewolf?" Percy spluttered.

"No, an Iranian Mongoose, Perce," Bill put in, shooting an irritated look at the bespectacled brother, who was sitting on the couch next to his parents. "What's wrong with werewolves? Old Lupin is a werewolf."

"Yes, but..." Percy looked around weakly. "You don't DATE them."

Molly chuckled, reaching over to squeeze her third son's knee. "Well, one of her best friends is dating an ex-Vengeance demon, another one was involved with a vampire, so apparently, they're more open about cross-species relationships there."

"Ex-Vengeance Demon? Vampire?" Fred blinked. "Okay, I knew they were brave and all, living on the Hellmouth and everything, but dating vampires, werewolves and demons...isn't that going a bit far too prove a point?"

"You have to remember that werewolves are only like that three nights of a month, Fred," Harry said. "Most of the time, they're really nice people, who can't help what happens to them on the full moon. Just look at Lupin," he shrugged. "Maybe ex-demons are like that too."

"I'm sure her boyfriend is a very nice young man," Molly added. "Albus said he was very quiet, but seemed like a nice fellow," she smiled slightly. "And we Weasley women tend to have good taste in men."

"Seconded," Ginny laughed.

"You have to admit, though," Bill said, eyeing his own wife. "That you can't do better than a Weasley man."

Molly and Fleur exchanged knowing glances, then smiled. "Won't disagree with that," His mother said, reaching up to embrace her husband.

***

"Whatcha thinking, Willow?"

Lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, Willow's forehead wrinkled. "I'm not an only child."

"I'll say!" Buffy laughed. She was sitting on her own bed, which stood parallel to Willow's, kicking her boots off, having just returned from an hour of slaying with her latest beau. "When you get brothers and sisters, you do it big time!"

"Yeah, but...but I'm the first one of the Scoobies to have any..." Rolling onto her side to look across at her friend, the red-haired witch looked upset for some reason. "I mean, that's kinda part of the reason we were together...I didn't have a family, so I hung out with you and then you kinda became my family..."

"Will, you having an army of brothers and a sister doesn't make you less of a Scooby!"

"But..."

"Will!" Willow's lower lip trembled at the vehemence in the Slayer's voice. "Hey, don't you get all twitchy on me!" Buffy said patiently, crossing the room and sitting down on her roommate's bed. "You're a Scooby. You're one of the first Scoobies and you always will be."

Sniffing a little, as Buffy fondly brushed a loose strand of hair back from her face, the red head nodded. "I'm being weird again, huh?"

"Always, Will. That's why we love you."

Sitting up, Willow scrubbed her eyes with her fists. "Do you think they'll...y'know... like me, Buffy?"

"How could they not?"

The witch had obviously been considering that carefully. 

"Well, there's a whole lot of reasons," she began. "I mean, messed up spell with evil skanky vampire and then the whole thing with Faith-the-psycho that might put them in danger, then the whole uber-powerful witchy thing with the Hellmouth and the souly thing and I don't wanna start on the accidental..."

"Will," Buffy couldn't help laughing. "They're going to love you," she smiled, and said. "And if Riley and me don't work out, I could always take one of your brothers and we could be sisters-in-law."

The red head rolled her eyes. "Now that's crazy talk," she said.

"Feeling better, now?"

Willow nodded, managing a weak smile. "Yeah," she replied. "Yeah. I'm good. Part of a super-large King-size family with magic fries on the side, but yeah. I'm good."

Buffy smiled. "You'll be fine, Will," she said. "I know it."


	8. The Next Step

****

The Eighth Weasley - Chapter Eight

The Next Step

"So this is England?"

Giles looked around at the bustling terminal of Heathrow and nodded with a broad smile. "Yes, Xander, this would be England."

"I thought it would be bigger," The dark-haired youth shot a mischievous smirk in Giles' direction, awaiting the inevitable glare that would follow. 

The small group of six from Sunnydale were standing at the conveyer belt, awaiting their luggage, after the long flight from California, via Tennessee and a changeover at New York's John F. Kennedy Airport.

The mode of transport seemed fairly mundane, considering the place they were going to, but Giles had insisted he would feel better about them using public transport, as opposed to risking losing one or all of them with Floo-Powder. 

A portkey had also been discarded as a possible mode of transport for the group, but solely for the fact that the powers of the Hellmouth often made them behave strangely and meant they frequently deposited their users in the middle of nowhere.

Giles had decided it wouldn't be the best of ideas to have the youngest Weasley ending up in Moldavia, or somewhere just as bizarre, while he tried to explain to her family that she had accidentally gotten misplaced.

Again.

Especially since it was the first time they were going to be meeting her on a face-to-face basis.

It had been nearly six months since the revelations of Willow's parentage and now, it was the middle of June and the red-haired witch was coming to meet the family she had been in contact with since the day Dumbledore had visited her.

From that day, to the one that had brought them to the airport in England, Willow had been receiving and sending owl-mails to her family, learning about who they were and what they were like.

She had already confessed to Buffy that she had a sort-of-favourite, in the form of Ron, the youngest of her elder brothers, who had written to her on an almost daily basis, with all the updates of what was and wasn't happening in their family.

He reminded her a lot of Xander, with a strange sense of humour and a knack of making her smile with a few choice words, even if they were written down, instead of said to her face.

His weeny owl, Pigwidgeon, had often spent a day sleeping on her bed, after delivering a weeks worth of letters, which Willow would reply to all of and send back in one large batch.

Both of them had been pleasantly surprised that the little bird hadn't had a heart attack somewhere over the Atlantic.

The bird, despite it's size, was resilient and apparently loved doing the deliveries, which made it all the cuter when it started hooting excitedly, when Willow tied a letter to it's little leg.

Now, less than two hours away from the place she would meet her family, Willow was starting to look a little pale.

"So, Will, how does it feel being back in your homeland?"

"I-I'm not sure I can do this." 

"And you didn't think to tell us this, before we travelled half way around the world?"

Buffy punched Xander's arm, making the boy yelp. "Shut up, Xander," She reached over to squeeze Willow's hand comfortingly. "Of course you can do this, Will. This is nothing. You're just meeting your family for the first time. No big."

"Can't I just go back and close the Hellmouth again?" the red head asked hopefully, a worried look on her face. "I mean, what if they don't like me and think I'm weird and they don't want to be related to me or they laugh at me and think I'm crazy..."

"They're going to love you, Willow," Oz said quietly to her, with his familiar, quiet smile. His hands came to rest at her waist, his touch soothing her. "Who wouldn't?"

"You really think so?"

His fingertips drifted up her side and down one arm, to skim her fingers lightly and he nodded with certainty. "I know so."

"And even if they do hate you, you got a free vacation from the nice Wizard with the big beard," Anya put in brightly, smiling. The former demon really seemed very taken with Dumbledore. "I think they will like you though. Most people do," she paused, then added. "Except I don't really."

Willow smiled faintly, then turned her attention to the Englishman further down the conveyor belt. "Where did you say we were going to meet them, Giles?" she asked. "Will it just be them or will there be a lot of people?"

"You've heard of The Leaky Cauldron from your reading?"

"Uh-huh."

"That's where we're going to," Giles paused to snatch a small duffle bag off the belt and drop it at his feet. "Dumbledore will have arranged something, so you can have some privacy. The rest of us will be dropping into Diagon Alley."

"That's the place with the stores, right?"

"Yes, Buffy," the Watcher said with a long-suffering sigh. "That's where all the shops are," A small, slightly devious smile edged onto his lips. "I'm sure you're going to find it a fascinating place to visit."

"You know, when you say somewhere is a 'fascinating place', I think I should be worrying," The Slayer pulled a face at him.

Giles chuckled. "You understand my secret code words so well, Buffy, I think I should begin to worry about you," He nodded to a large, hefty-looking case on the conveyor belt, smiling as the petite blonde swung it off easily and dropped it at her feet with a weight 'thump'. "And my own mental health..."

"G-Man, we always worry about your mental health," Xander remarked, snatching his khaki-coloured, patched rucksack as it passed him.

"Alexander LaVelle Harris," the former Librarian replied seriously, hiding a smirk as the younger man flinched. "While we are here, on my terms and territory, I would be obliged if you didn't call me G-Man ever."

"Why?"

"Because I am a Wizard and I happen to think you would make a very fetching frog," Giles gave him a slight smile edged with just enough of Ripper-style glee to make the teenager shudder. "Have we reached an understanding?"

Xander nodded hastily. "Completely."

"You can't turn my boyfriend into a frog!" Anya exclaimed in annoyance. "We wouldn't be able to have sex if he was a frog!" Her brow wrinkled. "Well, we could, but I don't think it would be very satisfying for either of us."

All of this was said in a loud and very audible voice, receiving startled and amused looks from other travellers gathered near the busy conveyor belt.

"Anya, not so loud, honey," Xander muttered, pulling her against his chest. "Some things aren't for public outbursts."

Anya pouted, toying with the round plastic buttons on the front of his shirt. "But I don't want him to turn you into a frog, Xander," she said, sounding a little hurt. "You would probably be a very attractive frog, but you wouldn't be a very good orgasm friend...or boyfriend."

"You heard her, Giles," Buffy put in dryly, rolling her eyes. "You wouldn't want Anya to miss her orgasm quota for the day."

"See!" the former demon exclaimed, with a broad smile in Buffy's direction. "Even Buffy understands that I have needs."

Giles rolled his eyes with a low groan. "God help the Wizarding world..."

***

"Bill, at least brush your hair."

"It's fine, mum."

Molly wrung her hands, trying to get the rest of the family organised. Even though they were all adults, she still didn't trust a single one of them to dress themselves properly. "I just want to make a good impression."

"We know, mum," Fred sighed, looking down at his carefully-ironed jeans and shirt that he had been forced to wear. It had taken begging, pleading and on-his-knees howling to convince his mother to even let him wear something as casual as that.

However, he - along with each of his brothers - had managed to persuade Molly that wearing a tuxedo and black bow-tie was a little bit too much.

Tugging at the end of his shirt, sighing, Fred shook his head. He was already missing the messy lab coat that was a constant part of his wardrobe.

"I'll leave you all to meet her first," Harry volunteered, drawing some dark looks from his brothers-in-law. He was the only member of the family who had not been told to flatten his hair about ten times already. Or to change out of the comfortable clothes he was wearing. Or breathe in a more 'normal' way. "I'm meant to be meeting Viktor about some new Quidditch techniques."

Arthur nodded vaguely, looking through the drawers in the kitchen. "Very good, Harry... Molly, where did you put my blue and green checked tie?"

"Its hanging up in the wardrobe in the bedroom, where it always is, dear," Molly replied, taking a shot with her wand at an uncontrollable tuft of George's hair that refused to lie flat. "Stay still, George! This doesn't hurt!"

"Leave my hair alone, mum!" George protested frantically, swatting her wand hand away as she tried to aim closer. He hopped to the side as his father ran past. "She's not about to run away from the family screaming if one of us has messy hair."

"Now, George! I just want you to look your best!" Molly grabbed him by the ear, holding him still, ignoring his yells. "Now, hold still and stop being a baby!"

"If anything, having a loony mother chasing her around the room and jabbing a wand at her head'll make her run screaming," Ron agreed with his brother, his voice glum. 

He had already been at the receiving end of the wand, his hair looking like a solid block of plastic hair. He wasn't amused.

Ginny, though, was staying strangely silent, standing next to Harry out of the way of the madness going on in the middle of the kitchen. Her hair was pulled back in a braid and her face looked strained and nervous.

"How are you feeling there, baby sister?" Charlie gave her a gentle nudge. He was the only one who had been able to avoid their mother's wrath, by means his brothers didn't comprehend. He was as messy as ever, a couple of shiny burns on his face and his hair a singed mass of blackened frizz above his face.

"Do we have to go?" In a brief silence as Molly muted George, Ginny's shaking words reached every member of her family. "I mean, what if she doesn't like us? What if she thinks we're all weird and doesn't want to even know us after everything?"

"Impossible," Harry stated firmly. "She's going to love you."

Fleur nodded. "Not many Wizarding families are disliking this family," she agreed emphatically with a fond look at her flame-haired husband. He winked at her with a devilish grin. "She will be nervous, as you are."

"Do-do you think so?" Ginny asked, a little colour returning to her pale face. 

"Of course," Harry hugged her with a broad smile. "And even if she's terrified of all the brothers, there's no way she couldn't like you." He nudged his nose playfully against hers. "If I married you, there has to be something likeable, eh?"

"Cocky git," this was said with a smile and she claimed a quick kiss from her husband. Ron made vomiting noises in the background and immediately received a rude gesture from his sister.

Harry, though, gave her a mock-shocked look. "Me? Cocky?" A broad grin spread across his face, green eyes dancing. "I have no idea where you get that idea... unless you've been comparing notes with Old Snape."

"Oh, of course, you're just so modest, Mister I'm-The-Youngest-Player-The-England-Quidditch-Team-Have-Ever-Had," Ron snickered, dodging another blast from his mother's wand, when she realised he had managed to uncurse the fluffy tufts of hair that seemed to have a mind of their own.

Ginny looked hopelessly at the chuckling Fleur. "And they wonder why I'm worried about Willow meeting us," she said, shaking her head.

***

Dumbledore was comfortably settled in the tower-top room that he had as an office, behind the wide desk, reading through the grades of the students, when he heard a repetitive tap-tap-tap on the window.

With a gesture of his wand, the window opened and a large tawny owl soared in, landing neatly on the desk and dropping an envelope on the surface for him.

One of Dumbledore's long-fingered hands came out and picked up the letter, turning it over. A fairly fresh seal was pressed into the wax on the back: an image of one of those muggle aeroplanes.

Despite the smile that spread on his lips, already more than aware of who the letter was from and what it was about, the wizard tore open the envelope and pulled out the crisp sheet of parchment.

It was very useful, he mused as he spread the sheet on the desk in front of him, to have friends and associates who worked in various sectors of the muggle-world to keep a look out for him.

This letter was from one of those very associates, who worked at the place known as Heathrow Airport, a muggle transport facility, just on the outskirts of London.

The writer of the letter, a young muggle-born by the name of Hector Rogers, had been placed on alert to watch for the impending arrival of Rupert Giles and his merry, madcap little band from the United States of America.

Apparently, Giles had been sighted at the airport.

And he certainly wasn't alone, judging by Hector's eager scrawl.

Professor Dumbledore couldn't quell a small smile, as he read through the more than slightly excited description of the 'three pretty young ladies' whom Mr. Giles had brought with him. 

Hector had reacted exactly as any other twenty-year-old would at the sight of Summers, Emerson and Weasley.

While he - Dumbledore - _really_ didn't pay attention such things as pretty young women, he chuckled at that thought, even a blind man would notice the three striking young women, each of them so very different.

Hector, despite not being blessed with a great abundance of power, had a wonderful sense of intuition about people and he had done more than simply ogle the triad of females accompanying Giles.

His assessments of each of them were spot on.

Miss Summers was the natural leader of the little group: strong-willed, determined, impetuous and incredibly brave. Dumbledore was rather looking forward to having her meet Harry on a one-to-one basis.

They were so very similar after all.

Miss Weasley seemed to puzzle Hector. He could tell she had some power, but he also seemed to have the odd feeling that she was a muggle, which made perfect sense considering her upbringing.

However, once she had a chance to learn about...

"Ah, Albus," he murmured. "You're getting ahead of yourself again."

His attention went to the study of Miss Emerson, a smile lifting his lips.

Yes, this was a fascinating young, yet ancient woman.

Ever since he had met her in Sunnydale, the Head master of Hogwarts had been hoping to see the former Vengeance demon again. While Hector simply stated that there was something 'off' about her, Dumbledore knew that she was a perfect example of at least two utterly different worlds colliding.

She had an innocence to her that was charming, spoke her mind about anything and everything with a bluntness that was seldom found in anyone but a child, although her comments were less than child-like.

She truly was an incredibly interesting young woman.

And now, she and her two female companions, along with a muggle, a watcher and a werewolf were safely ensconced on British soil, he would give them time to settle, before making his presence known.

***

"These cabs are so cute!" Sitting on one of the fold-down seats in the cab, Buffy had been exclaiming about everything they had seen around them, from buildings, to streets, to the policemen their cabby had almost mown down.

"They're nothing special, Buffy," Giles said patiently, although he appeared mildly amused by the delight on the Slayer's face, as she took in everything that she was seeing around them.

Her small hands and the tip of her nose were pressed to the window, staring out on the streets, as they sped along the London streets, but she looked over her shoulder at her watcher with a grin.

"But with the seats...and the foldy seats..." She motioned eagerly to the seat she was perched down, which was one of the two that folded down from the partition behind the cab driver. "You don't get things like this in America!"

"Like I said, Buffy, they are standard," Giles smiled, looking out of the window, as the taxi-cab came to a halt. "Ah... here we are." He nodded out at a non-descript building, sitting between two large, bright buildings. If he hadn't pointed it out none of them would have noticed it. "That's where we're going."

Anya wrinkled her nose. "It looks like a dump. It probably smells bad too," She reluctantly let Xander steer her out of the cab, looking up at the sign that hanging over the door. 

It was grubby, very old with peeling paint and the picture of a cauldron with a leak in the base was barely visible through the grime, swinging back and forth in the light breeze, squeaking softly.

"Its much better inside," Giles reassured her, pushing a handful of money into the cabby's waiting hand, as they piled out, carrying bags and cases and one very carefully concealed cage containing a transfigured-witch-cum-rat. "Now, is everyone sure they have everything?"

"Looks like it," Oz noted, taking Willow's hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"All right, then," Carrying two bags, he led the little group towards the dirty-looking door. "Ladies and Gentleman...and Xander," He received an indignant look from the dark-haired teen as he pushed the door open. "Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron."


	9. The Leaky Cauldron

Notes: I decided I should probably do some notes et al, regarding each chapter as I post it, so we'll start here. A few people have noted that I've changed S4 of Buffy. Well, I AM the writer :-P Honestly, though, I changed it this way – which will be explained eventually – because it would fit in better with the storyline.  
  
In this chapter, however, the fun begins in earnest. Several familiar faces are going to pop up in this chapter and (as I seem to add to many of my stories), there is a character called Bob.  
  
  
  
With the squeak of the door hinges, every single face in The Leaky Cauldron towards the bright rectangle of light of the doorway Eyes squinted and narrowed to focus on the group of figures standing there, only one familiar to anyone.  
  
"Good grief!" One of the Hogwarts teachers who had been seated at a table with several colleagues, celebrating the end of a school year, stood up, staring at the lead figure with a combination of shock and surprise. "Rupert Giles...is that you?"  
  
The former Watcher stared down at the tiny, white-haired Wizard. "Bloody hell!" He exclaimed with a laugh. "Professor Flitwick!" He wove his way around tables and chairs and staring customers, to bend and shake the little Wizard's hand. "Always one for recognising ex-pupil, eh, Professor?"  
  
"How could I forget you, Mr. Giles?" The Charms Teacher smiled broadly, eyes glinting. "If you recall, I was unfortunate enough to be one of your teachers."  
  
"And anything that happened to you that was in any way...er...bad, while I was at school, wasn't my fault."  
  
"I'll believe that the day Minerva starts dancing around the school in a Tutu." Flitwick retorted with clear amusement. "You might have kept your hands clean, young Giles, but you were the Ring Leader of the Three Wise Monkeys and we all knew it."  
  
Giles chuckled. "You know we preferred the Three Musketeers."  
  
"Ah, yes," The white-haired Wizard sighed, shaking his head. "Fortunately, we teachers used the more accurate version." He looked past his former pupil to the group still standing awkwardly at the door. "Business?"  
  
"You could say that." Motioning the group forward, Giles brought Buffy to the fore, letting Willow shielded herself with her boyfriend and best friend, hoping to keep her identity safe until she had met her family. "This is Buffy Summers."  
  
Flitwick's eyes went wide. "Good heavens!" He leaned back to stare up at her. "The Slayer!"  
  
Startled whispers rippled around the strangely quiet bar, making the blonde look around uncomfortably. "Uh... Giles? What's the deal?" She demanded. "How did the short guy know that I'm the Slayer?"  
  
"You always knew you were famous in the Supernatural world, Buffy." Her Watcher said with a small smile. "The Wizarding World knows more about the Slayer and her existence than any muggles would."  
  
"Uh...huh..." Suspiciously looking down at the small Wizard, she reluctantly had to smile as he took her hand and rose on his toes to bow over it to gallantly kiss her knuckles. "He knows I can kick him across the room, doesn't he?"  
  
Flitwick looked up at her with a twinkle in his eye. "Why else would I be trying to stay on your good side, Miss Summers?"  
  
"Hello! Buffy Summers!" A shrill, nasal voice called from further up the bar. "Hello!" Both Slayer and Watcher looked around and recoiled in mutual horror at the sight of a Witch with badly-dyed blonde hair, fake-diamond- studded stilettos and gaudy acid green robes. "A word!"  
  
"Run!" Flitwick hissed under his breath, quickly turning back to his drink, as the Witch swept towards them, a broad smile on her bespectacled face.  
  
"Hello there!" The Witch trilled over-brightly. Her voice was like nails on a blackboard. "I'm Rita Skeeter." Tacky-looking jeweled glasses perched on her long, pointed nose. "Could I perhaps have a word?"  
  
Buffy looked down at the notepad in the Witch's hand and the poison green feather quill that was zipping across the page, writing already. She looked back up at the Witch, staring closely at her. "Are you related to Dame Edna?" She asked. "You dress like him...her...it..."  
  
A snort of laughter escaped Giles, who hastily covered his smirk with a hand, his shoulders shaking as he tried to hold back the laughter.  
  
"Dame Who?" Rita Skeeter knew she had probably been insulted, but was determined that she would be the first Witch reporter to interview a Slayer.  
  
"She's an ugly man who dresses up in drag and looks even uglier as a woman." Buffy replied blandly, ignoring the sniggering she could hear from Giles. Her gaze drifted over Skeeter's hideous robes. "It looks like you have the same stylist."  
  
"Hahaha!"  
  
Buffy raised a brow. "What was funny?" She asked, her hands balled into tight fists on her hips. Rita immediately stopped laughing, a look of uncertainty crossing her face. "I don't like being laughed at."  
  
As emphasis, she picked up one of the thick metal spoons from the nearest table and easily bent it in half with her forefinger and thumb. Several jaws dropped. Wisely on her part, Skeeter took a startled step backwards, stepping on the hem of her robes and almost tripping, as the Slayer squeezed the crushed spoon into a round glob of metal.  
  
"And," The petite blonde added. "You know what else really annoys me?" Rita Skeeter shook her head, looking ready to make notes. "Reporters..." She heaved a huge sigh. "Ever since they accused me of murdering someone, I kind of...haven't liked them much." She fixed Rita with a pointed stare. "I would really like the chance to show one how I feel." The solid lump of metal that had once been a spoon was implicitly placed on the table beside her. "So, Rita, what did you want to talk to me about?"  
  
Rita's eyes were on the deformed spoon. "Wh-what?" Her quill had frozen, ink dripping silently onto the page of the notebook.  
  
"What did you want to talk to me about?" Buffy's voice dripped with sickening sweetness.  
  
As if by magic – which it probably was – Skeeter's notebook and bright green quill vanished. "Oh, nothing important!" Her voice was a great deal shriller than it had been seconds before. "It was nice to meet you, but I'm afraid I must be going."  
  
She darted away into the gatherings of witches and wizards in a flurry of hideous green robes and clacking, diamonte-studded shoes and apparently fled out of the bar.  
  
Immediately, there was a deafening roar of laughter and applause that made the surprised Slayer blush slightly.  
  
"Well done! Well done!" Flitwick squeaked enthusiastically. "No one has ever made Miss Skeeter depart faster than that!"  
  
"But she may well put something in The Daily Prophet about you...she's not a good person to annoy." A plump witch with flyaway hair and dirt- stained hands and clothes nodded in the direction of the Slayer. "She always manages to publish something nasty."  
  
Buffy looked around the faces at the closest table, then grinned wickedly. "Not if she wants to keep that badly-dressed, badly-dyed," She pulled a face as if it was the most heinous crime in the world. "Body intact."  
  
"Buffy," Giles started to chastise her. "She is a human..."  
  
The Slayer shrugged. "Doesn't mean I can't beat her senseless for crimes against fashion, does it?"  
  
"She does have a point there." Anya offered from behind Xander. "Anyone who wears that colour should be taken out and shot like a dog in the street." She frowned slightly. "I don't understand why someone would shoot a dog in the street, but its a phrase I read in a book somewhere and I like it and I think that the Skeeter-woman should be."  
  
"Giles," Buffy looked to her Watcher. "Just promise me that – no matter how evil you went when you were younger – you never ever wore that colour voluntarily. If you did, I would have to kill you now."  
  
"Fortunately, while my common sense left me, I did retain some sense of taste and decency."  
  
"Taste?" Xander raised his brows. Giles raised his finger. "Whoa! G-Man! You got yourself a nice bird there."  
  
"Anya, be a dear and warn your frog to keep his mouth shut." Giles remarked, then turned back to Professor Flitwick. Xander clapped his mouth shut quickly. "Professor, have you seen Dumbledore hereabouts, lately? We were meant to meet him here."  
  
Tom, the Innkeeper, who was standing behind the bar, cleared his throat. "He said he would be here in a bit, Mr. Giles." He called over. "He's booked rooms for you, if you want to take your luggage up to them now..."  
  
"That would be marvelous." Giles nodded. "After so much time in planes, it would be nice to have somewhere to take a quick nap."  
  
"But I wanted to go to see the stores!" Anya exclaimed, only to be silenced with a cautioning look from Xander. "Well, I guess I could sleep for a while, even if the neat stores are right behind the pub." She grumbled.  
  
"We have plenty of time, Anya." Giles reminded her, motioning for the group to follow him towards the old barkeep, who had hauled a large ring of keys out from beneath the bar and was trying to pull three off it.  
  
"Follow me." Tom said, as the group neared, giving up on liberating the keys for the time being and hauling the whole ring with him.  
  
They were led through strangely wide hallways that looked simply too big to fit into the tiny pub, numerous dark, wooden doors lining the walls, each with brass numbers screwed onto them and gleaming in the faint light cast by the oil-burning lamps on the walls.  
  
"How big is this place?" Buffy asked with amazement, as they passed the twentieth door in the corridor and started up a long flight of stairs.  
  
Tom looked back at her with a timid, toothless grin. "Well, we have five hundred rooms available, if we need them, Miss Summers." He replied, opening a large door that led into another insanely wide corridor. "Usually, we only have the usual two hundred."  
  
"Must be useful." Oz murmured. "Kind of like a tardis."  
  
"That seems to be an analogy that muggles use a lot." Tom agreed, grinning a gummy smile in the direction of the werewolf. He paused in front of the door numbered 314 in bold, brass numbers, raising a bushy brow when the Slayer and her friends started laughing. "Is there something amusing?"  
  
Shaking his head, Giles quelled a chuckle. "You really don't want to know, Tom, believe me." He said, with a faint grin. "Its a long story and no doubt it'll find its way into The Daily Prophet some time during our stay."  
  
"Giles, I gotta have this room!" Buffy said determinedly. "Me and Will'll take it!"  
  
"Very well," Tom nodded, resorting to using his wand to remove the key from the ring and handing it to her. "Your friends will be in rooms 315 and 316." He looked at Giles. "Is that all right by you?"  
  
"That'll be fine." Giles replied with a nod.  
  
***  
  
"Neat! Check out the invisible city!" Buffy was leaning out of the window. She could hear the sounds of the city, but there had to be some kind of spell on the view that meant that the room owner saw only beautiful scenery that could have come from any idyllic novel.  
  
It was very strange to hear such contrary sounds and sights outside of the window.  
  
The view before her looked like it was from some kind of fantasy film, with a stunning waterfall pouring down a sheer cliff and blue skies high above them. Forests spread around both sides of them and she found herself wondering what view the other rooms had.  
  
It was nearly four hours since they had all arrived at The Leaky Cauldron and all of the group had been catching up on sleep, caught in the throes of jetlag. Trays of food had been provided twenty minutes before and the Slayer was now taking the chance to have a look around.  
  
"I can't believe I'm here." Willow was sitting on her bed, the one nearest the door and on the right side of the fireplace, where a small, cool fire was crackling to provide a cosy atmosphere without the stuffy heat.  
  
"It's amazing, isn't it?" Buffy returned from the window, dropping down on her own bed. "Such a huge place in such a tiny building."  
  
Willow nodded absently, withdrawing a handful of letters from her rucksack and spreading them on her bed. "I can't believe I'm going to meet my parents soon..." She fingered the envelopes, then yelped in sudden panic. "And I must look a mess after travelling all this way!"  
  
She was already on her way to the large, round, gold-leaf framed mirror on the beige wall, brush in hand, when Buffy started to disagree with her. "I think you look fine, Will." The red head didn't listen, tugging her brush hastily through her silky hair.  
  
"Do you have anything that would make my hair behave itself?" She called over her shoulder to the Slayer.  
  
"I think you're past help, dearie." The mirror murmured sleepily.  
  
Willow squeaked in surprise. "You spoke to me!"  
  
"I don't see anyone else reflected in me." The mirror replied, apparently waking up and not too happy about it. It paused when Buffy hurried over to peer at it as well. "All right, come and stare at me. That's all anyone does."  
  
"Well, I was going to talk to you." Willow looked offended. "How come you can talk?"  
  
"You really want to know?" The voice brightened considerably. "Ooh! Normally no one ever does anything but stare into me or ignore me." There was a pause. "I think I've got a charm on me or something."  
  
"So you're alive?"  
  
There was a dusty chuckle at the Slayer's words. "I'm a mirror, dear. Of course I'm not alive."  
  
"Have you been here long?"  
  
"Long enough." The mirror said absently. The dust around the edge of the frame suggested it had been a long time. "What about you? Its obvious that you've never been in the Leaky Cauldron before."  
  
"I've been living on a Hellmouth in America." Willow replied, still trying to figure out why she was actually talking to the elaborately-framed mirror. "I didn't know about The Leaky Cauldron until I found out I was a proper witch a few months ago."  
  
The mirror seemed to regard her for a moment. "You're a late starter, aren't you?" It remarked. "Mind you, I have heard people talking about Hellmouths before...nasty places they are. Had a cousin who was broken to be made into a stake there."  
  
"Uh...that might have been my fault." Buffy said awkwardly. "Sorry, but I needed to kill a couple of vampires and I didn't have anything else..."  
  
There was another hoarse chuckle. "Don't worry dear," The mirror said reassuringly. "That's considered a promotion in my family." There was a pause. "That would make you a Slayer, wouldn't it?"  
  
"Even mirrors know who I am?" The Slayer looked like she didn't know whether to be flattered or annoyed.  
  
"You'll find you are very famous, Miss Summers." Dumbledore's voice spoke from behind them and both girls spun to see Dumbledore calmly pulling himself out of the fireplace and dusting his robes down. "Good afternoon, Willow."  
  
"Did...did you just come through the fire?" The red head asked uncertainly.  
  
"That I did." The Professor's pale blue eyes twinkled merrily. "I had to resort to floo powder, so I wouldn't attract too much attention downstairs." He looked around. "I'm assuming that your companions are in the neighbouring rooms."  
  
"Yeah." Buffy returned to her bed, sitting down and quickly pulling her black boots off to replace them with another pair. "Giles and Oz are next door and Xander and Anya are next door to them."  
  
"Fine." The mirror sighed melodramatically. "Forget all about me..."  
  
"I had to put my shoes on." Buffy called over apologetically. Fastening the boots, she returned and smiled at the mirror. "Better?" She hastily brushed her hair, pulling it back and pinning the loose curls back with clasps. "Will I do?"  
  
"For a Slayer, you could do with putting a little weight, dear." The mirror replied, tutting in a strangely maternal fashion. "It won't do, being so skinny."  
  
"You'd get on well with my mom." Buffy pulled a face, glancing at the chuckling reflection of Dumbledore who was standing behind her. Willow was pulling her shoes on, sitting on the end of her bed. "Professor, d'you think they'd let me take this mirror home with me?"  
  
"I beg your pardon?" The mirror squawked.  
  
Buffy turned her full attention back to it. "Well, you seem kinda neat and it seems kinda boring here." She bent closer to it. "If you promise to compliment me at least once every morning, I could take you home with me, if you like."  
  
The mirror laughed a little more loudly this time. "Blimey!" It said, still laughing softly. "I must have made a good impression, then! And old Tom always says that I'm too talkative." There was a wistful sigh. "It would be marvellous to get out of this room for once, as well."  
  
"I'm sure Tom wouldn't object, Buffy." Dumbledore added with a small smile. "After all, you merely need to remind him that you could tear his pub down with one hand and that would be enough to convince him."  
  
The Slayer grinned broadly, looking towards the door as it opened. "Hey, Xander! Look at this cool mirror! It can talk!"  
  
"Ours can talk as well." Anya grumbled bitterly. Her boyfriend's face coloured a deep shade of magenta. "It was very off-putting when we were having sex. It was cheering and telling us we should have provided popcorn."  
  
"A mirror handing out sex tips...there's something you don't hear every day." Willow stood up, smoothing her crimson blouse down over her black trousers.  
  
"I covered it in a sheet and it called me a prude." Xander shook his head. "Some of the things I've seen here are just too wiggy."  
  
"Wiggy?" The mirror inquired from the wall.  
  
"It mean weird." Buffy explained, reaching up to pat the frame. "Don't worry. He's a muggle, so he uses weird words."  
  
"Buffy, you're having a conversation with furniture." Giles remarked dryly, entering the room with Oz. "Should we start worrying about you?" He nodded a greeting to Dumbledore. "Nice to see you Professor."  
  
"Giles, I'm adopting the mirror. He...she...er...what are you?"  
  
The mirror paused, silent for several seconds and if it could have, it would have frowned in thought. "Call me Bob." It said.  
  
"So you're male?"  
  
"Nope. I just like the name." She could visualise a grin.  
  
"Okay." She grinned back at it. "I name you Bob the Mirror." Her friends rolled their eyes but she ignored them, patting the frame again. "I'll see you later, okay, Bob? We're going to go to the stores."  
  
"Have fun, dear."  
  
***  
  
"This is where we part company." Dumbledore paused at the end of another corridor. "Willow, you will be coming with me...unless you want to bring someone with you, everyone else will be going to Diagon Alley."  
  
"I think it would be better to meet them on my own." The red head replied after a moment's thought, accepting a quick hug from the Slayer and brief kiss from her boyfriend. "I'll see you guys later, I guess."  
  
"And we'll want to know everything!" Buffy called over her shoulder as she was steered away by Giles.  
  
Willow looked nervously up at Dumbledore. "Are they already here?" She asked.  
  
"They are." Dumbledore gave her a warming smile. She felt some of her nerves dissolve, but her hands were shaking frantically. "Don't be so afraid, my dear." He said, patting her on the shoulder as they walked further down the corridor. "They're as nervous as you."  
  
"Yeah, but there's more of them to be nervous together." She muttered, rubbing her sweating palms together.  
  
"I'm sure you will all get on just fine, Willow."  
  
"Doesn't stop me feeling like I'm going to throw up, though." The red head gave him a faint, watery grin. "Sorry." She added. "I've never met people who I've been writing to before...unless you count the time he turned out to be a homicidal demon in a computer."  
  
Dumbledore crooked a bushy brow in her direction. "I would say that is a perfectly legitimate excuse to be slightly nervous." He remarked with a chuckle, pausing as they approached a door without a number on it. "Ah, here we are. Are you ready?"  
  
She rubbed her palms on her trousers and nodded. "As I'll ever be." 


	10. The Weasleys

****

The Eighth Weasley - Chapter Ten

The Weasleys

Notes: We've finally reached THE chapter! You have no idea how thrilled I am to actually get this far into the story and still have an abundance of ideas. I have no idea how adopted kids react to meeting their biological parents, so apologies if this seems inaccurate.  


__________________________

Two wide, worn, red velvet couches lined opposite walls of the private parlour, broad windows with off-white lace curtains and a solid oak table decorated with a gold candelabra and twin vases of rather dusty-looking dried roses lining the third wall. 

The fourth wall only contained the door that lead into the hall and clean rectangles on the musty yellow wallpaper, where portraits of Wizards had been hastily removed, to allow the family some additional privacy.

Molly and Arthur were sitting side-by-side, holding one another's hands. Both of them were pale, exchanging nervous glances from time to time. Percy and Bill were sitting on the same couch, each of them glancing at their watches every few seconds.

On the opposite couch, the other five Weasley children sat together in silence, which was a small miracle, but their parents were too nervous themselves to notice. Ginny especially looked pale and fraught, toying with the end of her braid.

The doorknob squeaked and every pair of eyes snapped to the round, gold knob.

It seemed to turn with agonising slowness until the snib clicked and the door started to open inwards, squeaking even more loudly than the knob. Molly got to her feet quickly, her heart thundering against her ribs, her husband swift to join her.

Professor Dumbledore entered first, wearing his usual colourful array of expensive and beautifully-stitched robes, smiling broadly around at them, then stepped aside to let his young companion enter.

Head down, the youngest Weasley stepped into the room, timidly looking around from beneath swathes of loose deep red hair that obscured her eyes. "Uh...hi..." She raised her face shyly, a nervous smile on her lips. "I-I guess you're my family, then."

"Oh my...Willow..." Molly started forward, holding out both of her hands. 

Before Willow could protest, warm soft arms had caught her in a hug, something she had rarely received from her adoptive mother and she felt tears springing to her eyes as she returned the embrace. Pulling back, Molly lifted Willow's face in her hands, then hugged her again. 

"Our little one...its so good to see you again..."

"Its good to finally meet you...mom," Willow's smile was still shaky, but brighter than it had been before.

Arthur hurried forward to join his wife, catching one of Willow's hands and shaking it heartily, unable to speak. A choked laugh escaped him and he drew her into a hug as well, embracing her tightly.

"You poor child...cursed with my good looks..." he managed to mumble with a smile against her silky red hair. Willow laughed softly, tears streaming down her face as both of her parents hugged her as if she was their most precious possession.

The rest of the Weasleys had all got to their feet awkwardly, uncertain what to do as their parents embraced the missing one of their number. Bill was the one who finally took the initiative and moved forward.

"Hi, Willow?" Her face still resting against their father's chest, she looked at the striking, long-haired man who was clad in leather - or was it dragon-hide? "I'm Bill," He held out a hand, shaking hers. "I'm your biggest brother."

"Hey Bill," Her parents release her to meet her siblings, embracing one another and exchanging smiles. "I guess you all kinda know who I am, seeing as you called me by my name and everything and, oh boy, real nervous...nervous...leads to babbling..."

"You babble when you're nervous, too?" Ginny suddenly brightened at that. She stepped forward, then both she and Willow froze, staring at one another and - more particularly, at what they were wearing.

"Oh my God..." Willow managed to utter in astonishment.

The youngest Weasley twins had accidentally picked practically identical clothes for their first meeting with each other – red blouses with low-cut collars and figure-hugging black trousers, as well as black boots.

At around the same height and build, the only differences in the pair were visible in their hair and faces. Willow had her father's strong features, while Ginny looked more like Molly, Ginny's hair a wild mass of curls, while Willow's was silky and straight.

"Well, you are twins," Professor Dumbledore noted with a small smile.

"We are...aren't we?" Willow turned her attention to Ginny's face, examining her as closely as Ginny was examining Willow. "We don't look alike."

Ginny grinned. "You look like dad and I look like mum, that's why," She looked down at her hand, wondering if she should offer it to her twin, but - instead - took two more steps across the room and hugged her. "Its great to have you back, Willow."

"Great to be back," Willow murmured tearfully. With one arm looped around one another, the twins turned to their brothers and Willow took in each face, trying to place it from what she had read in the books.

A tall, gangly youth with a wild mop of red hair and a mass of freckles approached them. "All right, Willow?" He offered a hand, which she shook. "Nice to finally get to see who I was writing to."

"You're Ron, aren't you?"

"S'right," He grinned broadly. Stepping forward, he enveloped Willow in one of the most comfortable hugs she had ever had. He smelled warm and familiar, so very like Xander. "Bet its kinda weird to put a face to the hand-writing, eh?" Willow nodded, her arms around his waist. "And yep, Ron, the second most famous Weasley after Ginny...mind you, if I'd gone and married Harry, I would have been most famous."

"I don't think Harry would have liked that as much as you would, Ron," Ginny laughed. Ron pulled a face at her and mussed her hair. "Hey! Gerroff!"

"Out the way, Ronniekins!" Two identical men in their early twenties hauled Ron back, each offering a hand simultaneously to Willow. "Nice to have another complete set of twins in the family, Will. You don't mind if we call you Will? Good!"

"Uh..."

"I'm Fred," One shook her hand, then handed it to his brother. "That's George."

"George, shove off. I'm Fred," the one shaking her hand said.

"For goodness sake," Percy sighed, shaking his head. "The one on the left is George and the one on the right is Fred."

"Bzzt! Wrong!" both men chimed in unison, drawing a grin from Willow. Something about the pair reminded her a lot of Xander, but in different way compared to Ron.

Ron seemed to provide the comfortable familiarity. He was friendly, he had the goofy grin perfect, he had eyes that said he was a nice guy. It felt like she had known him for ever and beyond, but with Fred and George, she was getting the strange urge that if she was ever down, they would be the ones to cheer her up.

The twins were grinning at her and she could already see a difference between them.

One had a slightly wonky tip of his nose, like it had been broken and fixed very well, but just a little squint.

"Okay, we'll behave," the one on the right said. He was the one with the normal, wonk-free nose. "I'm George."

The one on the left, with the wonky nose, nodded. "Which means that I'm Fred, normally."

"Contradiction in terms there," the final member of the group said, peering around both of his younger brothers. "All right there, Willow?" He grinned at her, his red hair a mass of singed frizz. Stretching out a hand, he shook hers. "I'm Charlie."

"Nice to meet you, Charlie," She eyed his head. His skin had several shiny marks on the cheeks and on his forearms too, but still, it was the black-tipped red hair that drew her attention. "Uh...what happened to your hair?"

"The Swedish Short Snout had hiccups."

"Huh?"

Ginny replied for her brother. "Charlie works with dragons. He's been looking after a baby Swedish Short Snout lately and apparently it ate too quickly."

"A baby dragon? How cute!" Willow exclaimed. "I'd love a dragon."

Ron sniggered. "You're gonna get on well with Hagrid."

"Is it true you're dating a werewolf?" Percy butted in quickly. "By the way, I'm Percy, your elder brother." Wearing an impeccable suit that reminded her painfully of Niles in 'Frasier' and horn-rimmed glasses, he had a pompous look on his face.

Willow eyed him, remembering the Harry Potter books. "I never would have guessed you were Percy," she said in a deadpan voice. The rest of the brothers muted sniggers. "And yes, I do date a werewolf."

"Seriously?"

"I'd say," She nodded. "We've been together for nearly three years."

"That's not quite what I meant..." Bill said with a lop-sided grin. "What's it like? I've never seen a werewolf. I mean, I've seen a werewolf, but I haven't seen one as a wolfy werewolf...how did you find out he was one?" They had somehow managed to sit down while they were talking, Willow sandwiched between Ginny and Ron, Bill and Percy flanking them.

"Find out?" The youngest Weasley frowned, trying to remember. "I went to see him one night, just after we started dating. It was just after there had been an attack and he was trying to chain himself up. He turned into the wolf, chased me and probably would have killed me and eaten me, if I hadn't shot him."

"You shot him and you're still actually together?" Ron looked impressed. "That's commitment."

"It was only a tranquilliser gun," She shrugged. "It knocked him out long enough to get him into the cage in the library that Giles had," A frown crossed her brow. "I never did work out why Giles had a cage in the library."

"Old Rupert always was a kinky sod," Arthur said with a small smile. "Did he bring you over?"

"I think he said he was taking my friends into Diagon Alley," Willow nodded.

George cocked his head. "They're all muggles, aren't they?"

"One was a witch, about a thousand years ago," That drew some puzzled looks from her family. "But yeah, I guess you could sorta call them muggles. I mean, Oz is a werewolf, Buffy's a slayer and Anya's an ex-demon but Xander's...well, he's Xander. All muggly and stuff."

"What's the Slayer like?" Percy demanded eagerly.

"Well, she doesn't like being called the Slayer," Willow smiled faintly. "You call her Slayer and she'll probably to throw you across the room," Percy flinched, sinking back on his seat. "Call her by her name and she'll be fine. She's great, though. My best friend."

"Is she built like a rugby player? I mean, if she's fighting demons and everything without magic, she'll have to be pretty big..." Ron put in, one of his long arms looped around Willow's shoulders. Normally no one would have been so tactile with her, but the youngest Weasley couldn't help feeling utterly at ease in her elder brother's embrace and looked up at him.

It took a moment for what he had said to sink in and Willow blinked, then doubled over laughing at the thought of a King-Size, Rugby-player version of Buffy wearing the familiar, girly normal-size Buffy wardrobe. "Oh God... gone to a scary visual place here..."

"What?" Ron looked bemused.

"I can't explain now, Ron," Giggling uncontrollably, Willow shook her head, one hand patting his knee. "Oh God..." Even Professor Dumbledore was having trouble keeping a grin from his face. "Buffy... rugby-playing...I'll have to tell her that..."

"But she is big?"

"You'll just have to wait until you meet her...you are staying for a while, right?" Willow looked around anxiously, her laughter fading as quickly as it had come. "Everyone wants to meet you guys, cos they've heard all about you from the letters and everything."

Molly nodded with a broad smile. "Of course! We'd be delighted to stay as long as you are."

"Actually..." Professor Dumbledore murmured, moving from his position at the door for the first time since he had entered the room. "That was a subject I was wondering if I could bring up with you all."

"Oh?" Willow managed to make the feeble squeak.

"Molly, you recall what we discussed several weeks ago?"

Apparently she did, looking from the Professor to her youngest daughter and biting on her lower lip nervously. "Do you think...that is to say..."

"Why don't you ask her, Molly?" Dumbledore suggested gently.

The plump witch nodded nervously. "Um...Willow, we were...that is...is there any chance that you might like to come and spend the rest of the summer with us, at The Burrow?" Willow gaped at her. "I mean, I know you probably have other things to do and everyone will probably be coming and going a lot, but..."

"I would love to!"

"Really?" Willow nodded eagerly and Molly beamed. "That's wonderful! And we can help you with your magic and everything, if you're going to..." She looked up at Dumbledore, who smiled slightly and moved a little closer to the group.

"Willow, there has been some dicussion among the staff body at Hogwarts," he said. "and we were wondering if you would like to attend the school, in some capacity to learn to use your abilities properly. After all, you have a lot of power and we would like to give you a little help in finding out how to use it."

The youngest Weasley stared at him in confusion. "I-I don't understand. I thought I was too old to attend the school."

"You're very advanced already, you know, so I'm sure we could arrange private tuition in specialist areas," He smiled reassuringly. "You could attend classes you were interested in and it would be one of the best ways for you to learn about our world, even if you only attend for a single school year."

"Me? Go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?" A dazzling grin crossed the young witch's face. "That would be amazing!"

"I hoped you would say that," Dumbledore smiled. "If you stay with Molly and Arthur for the summer, at least we will know where to contact you."

A wrinkle marred Willow's brow momentarily. "But what about my friends, Professor? I mean, if I come to the school, would Oz be able to come with me, if he wants to? Is there a cage that I could put him in at the school? I don't want to leave him behind."

"I'm sure we could arrange something, Miss Weasley."

"Only someone from our family would ask for a cage for their love- interest," Charlie remarked with a wry grin.

Willow smiled again at the use of her name, grinning at Charlie's comment then paused, a curious look crossing her face. "Will I have to be sorted?" she asked, a note of excitement in her voice.

"If you intend to attend regular classes, it would probably be necessary, so yes," Blue eyes twinkled brightly. "Or if you just wanted to be sorted for the sake of it, I am sure we could fit you into the register."

Ginny grinned. "You just want to see what the hat says to you, don't you?"

"I am kinda curious," Willow returned the grin weakly. "Do you think I'd be a Gryffindor like the rest of you? I mean, has there ever been anyone who was in this family, who wasn't in Gryffindor?"

Fred and George immediately started to speak. "We thought we'd have some peace from the family when we got there, but no," George sighed dramatically and his brother took up the speech. "We got stuck with Perfect Percy."

"I resent that!"

"That was the point, Perce," Fred grinned.

"But what if I end up in Slytherin? I mean, I've done some spells that have gone a teeny bit...wrong...and ended up with things not of the good..."

Ginny gave her twin a reassuring hug. "Then you'll show them exactly what a muggle-raised Weasley can do," she lowered her voice and added in a wicked whisper. "And if they really annoy you, you could always let your boyfriend loose in the common room on a full-moon."

Willow couldn't help smiling at that thought. "Its very tempting, you know," she said, her eyes dancing with mischief, then looked across the room at her parents questioningly. "If I come and stay with you, when will it be?"

Arthur gave her a broad smile. "As soon as you would like to, Willow. It might be a bit of a squeeze, but I'm sure we'll be able to fit you in...after all, none of this lot are meant to live with us anymore, seeing as they're all grown up and everything."

"Yeah, but we've never had a new baby sister to annoy," George grinned in a way that made Willow very uneasy. "We have nineteen years of annoying to catch up on, haven't we?"

"You don't want to annoy me too much," Willow cautioned, her eyes dancing.

"Why?"

She smirked. "I have something you don't have."

"Well, we all knew about THAT," Fred put in with a dirty grin, receiving a magic clip around the ear from his mother's wand. "Mum!"

"Don't be crude, Fred," Molly scolded.

"Well, he is right about that, mom," Willow grinned. "But I still having something better than what he's got..."

"Hey!" He looked offended, then frowned. "Um...so what do you have that George and me don't, then?"

"A Slayer who would happily beat you up, if I asked her to," Willow gave her big brother a thoroughly innocent smile. Ginny gave a shout of laughter and Fred and George shut up very quickly. "You'll just have to make sure I don't get upset, won't you and George?"

He and his twin nodded emphatically.

"You know," Ginny remarked conspiratorially. "I think you and I are going to get on very well." 


	11. Diagon Alley

Notes: This has to be my favourite chapter in this series so far. It was all so spontaneous when I was writing it and those always seem to be the best ones. First, though, apologies for any character bashing that ensues later. Its not because I dislike any character, but it just...er...sort of fits in with the story. Also, we have some familiar faces popping up, just for all of my wonderful friendly Stoners (in the YGTS? context, of course!)  
  
"Stand back." Giles had produced his wand from a deep pocket and stepped up to the crumbling brick wall in front of them. His companions watched dubiously, as he tapped a brick three times with the tip of the wand.  
  
"Whoa!" Xander exclaimed, impressed, as the bricks started moving, the sound of stone grating against stone barely audible as the pathway opened into Diagon Alley, a perfect arch forming in the wall.  
  
Anya nodded admiringly at the arch. "Good stonework." She remarked.  
  
"Have to get one of those put in my frat." Oz agreed. "Stylish."  
  
Giles replaced his wand in the pocket again. "Welcome to Diagon Alley, shopping centre of the Wizarding World."  
  
"Can we go look at stuff?" Buffy demanded eagerly.  
  
The former Librarian sighed. "I should have expected that." He remarked, more to himself than anyone else. "I need to go to Gringotts, so I'll trust you to behave yourselves and we'll meet there," He pointed to a small cafe. "In two hours." He pointed a finger at Xander. "Don't touch anything."  
  
"Two hours! What can I look at in two hours? Giles!"  
  
He pointedly ignored her, walking off into the bustling crowds, in the direction of a large, impressive-looking white building in the distance. Anya immediately grabbed Xander's arms, hauling him away into the swarms of people.  
  
"I think I'll just hang out here." Oz looked around and up at the sun shining down between the tiled rooftops and buildings. "See you?"  
  
"Yeah..." Buffy murmured absently, staring around at the shops. Surely there would be a Victoria's Secret somewhere around here.  
  
Leaving the werewolf to make himself comfortable on a bench in the warm sun, she started off through the numerous witches and wizards of all ages, quite a lot of them clad in robes and strange garb.  
  
She got a few curious looks, but many younger witches seemed to be wearing clothing similar to her own, so she didn't feel so out of place.  
  
"Have you seen the price of newt eyes?" An elderly woman with curly white hair and round glasses that reminded the Slayer of her grandmother demanded, looking horrified. "Fifteen knuts a gram!"  
  
"Uh...I'm guessing that's bad." Buffy offered, hoping she was saying the right thing.  
  
"Bad? Bad?!?" The Witch threw her hands up in horror. "Dear, its proposterous! For that price, I could buy ten newts and pluck the eyes from them." A nauseous look crossed the Slayer's face. "Oh dear," The witch noticed the look and grinned slightly, showing crooked teeth. "That did sound quite bad, didn't it?" She reached out to pat the Slayer's hand with a gnarled one. "I would kill them first, of course. I'm not that inhumane."  
  
"Oh. Good."  
  
"Oh, excuse me, dear." Squeezing past the Slayer, the old woman bustled off, leaving the stunned Buffy staring after her.  
  
"O...K..." She managed to say, turning to continue down the street, finally coming within window-shopping range of the first shop. The sign above the door had a picture of a cauldron and there were stacks of the things along the front of the shop and in the window.  
  
Moving onwards, she almost tripped over a group of children playing with marbles. Pausing to watch, she yelled in fright and surprise when one of the marbles that was struck by another burst into a puff of flame, then vanished.  
  
"Was that meant to happen?" She asked, when all their faces rose to look up at her, apparently amused by her response.  
  
"Uh-huh." A dark girl with braided hair nodded. "They're Phoenix marbles."  
  
"Don't worry." One of the boys said, grinning at her. He was sandy haired, green eyed and both his front teeth were missing. "They come back, when the games finished. They're the newest game from Zonko's."  
  
"Zonko's?" Buffy echoed faintly, squatting down to talk to them.  
  
"Yeah!" Another boy enthused, pointing up at the shop they were squatted outside. A bright, gaudy sign proclaimed it to be called 'Zonko's Joke Shop'. "They just opened this one, since not everyone can get all the way to Hogsmeade."  
  
"Hogsmeade?"  
  
The gap-toothed boy stared at her. "You're a muggle, aren't you?"  
  
"Uh...sort of."  
  
"How can you be sort of a muggle?" The dark girl demanded shrilly.  
  
"Well, I do have some magic stuff I can do...sort of..."  
  
The brown-haired boy frowned. "Like what?"  
  
"Well, I...uh...can fight vampires."  
  
"Do you use a wand?" The sandy-haired boy asked.  
  
Buffy grinned faintly, reaching behind her back and withdrawing Mister Pointy. The stake remained with her at all times and she had taped it to her back, in case any vampires should happen to lurk in sunlight-filled Diagon Alley. "I have this."  
  
"That's not a wand!" the dark-haired boy pointed out. "That's just a boring stick."  
  
"This boring stick," Buffy spun it in her hand, like a gun-slinger would a gun, making all three of the children stare, three mouths forming 'o's of surprise. "Has killed more vampires than you can imagine."  
  
The toothless boy hesitantly touched it. "Really?"  
  
"Yep!" The blonde girl grinned, but then it faded slightly as she added. "A friend gave it to me, a little while before she died." She turned the stake over in her hand, touching the carved handle reverently. "Its been my best stake for two years."  
  
"How do we know you're not just making that up?" The dark girl said. "I've never seen a vampire, so how do we know they're real?"  
  
Replacing Mister Pointy at the base of her back, she raised a hand and pulled her loose hair back from her neck. "You see this mark?" She said, pointing to the scar on her throat. All three knelt up to stare and nodded. "I was bitten there by a vampire."  
  
"You were bitten?" The dark-haired boy whispered. "Wow..."  
  
"Did it hurt?" The girl inquired.  
  
Buffy looked at her, then smiled slightly. "Duh! A great big demon stuck his teeth into my neck! Of course it hurt."  
  
"Did you stick your stick into his chest?" The sandy-haired boy asked eagerly.  
  
Letting her hair fall back over her neck, Buffy shook her head. "He was too strong for a boring stick." She said with a shudder. "So I pushed him through a roof and he fell onto a huge stake and poof! He was gone."  
  
"Cool!" All three were staring at her in awe.  
  
"What are you up to, Josh?" A shadow lengthened above them and Buffy squinted up to see a striking man in his early twenties standing over them. The sandy haired boy snatched up his marbles and scrambled to his feet.  
  
"Uncle Oliver!" He squealed excitedly, as Buffy straightened up awkwardly, a sheepish look on her face. "This lady kills vampires with a weird stick! She killed one with a great big stick after she pushed him through a roof!"  
  
His Uncle, Oliver apparently, looked from the boy to Buffy. "Right, Josh. No more horror stories at bed time, for you." He said dryly, then gave Buffy a smile. His accent was faintly Scottish, with a far-too-yummy sound to it and he was...Buffy nearly whimpered aloud. He was cute and sounded sexy too. She was never going to get a word out! "Sorry if they were bothering you."  
  
"That...its...uh...no problem." Ah! Those were the words she needed to use. Now, repeat and add, so you sound vaguely normal. "It was no problem." As always, muteness in the face of cuteness had struck again.  
  
He held out a strong hand, which Buffy shook, still staring mutely at him. "I'm Oliver Wood and this little tyke here," He nodded down to the sandy-haired boy, who was grinning brightly. "Is my nephew, Josh."  
  
"I...I...erm...Buffy." Your own name! Bravo! Such wit and talent with words you've got going there. "I'm Buffy. Buffy Summers."  
  
There was a brief flicker of recognition in the man's face. "I'm sure I've heard that name somewhere." He gave her another smile. "No matter, I'm sure it'll come to me." He caught Josh's hand in his. "Nice meeting you, but I have to be off."  
  
"Nice...you too...I mean, meeting you was nice too." Mentally kicking herself, she watched as the tall, darkish and handsome man with the rather sexy accent walked into the crowd, leading Josh with him.  
  
"Bye!" Josh called back, waving.  
  
Buffy reluctantly waved after him, before continuing on her way down the streets.  
  
***  
  
"I'd like to make a withdrawl from account number seven-two-nine."  
  
"Name."  
  
"Rupert Giles."  
  
"Do you have your key?"  
  
The former Watcher was raking through his pockets for the key, when he heard the familiar tones of Anya's voice ringing across the hall. The marble walls and floor tended to make sound carry, so most people would keep their voices respectfully low, but not Anya.  
  
Placing his copper key on the tabletop, beside a pile of diamonds next to silver scales, he turned to see what the former demon was up to.  
  
She was standing on the other side of the hall, at one of the desks. A Goblin with an open ledger was looking down at her as grimly as any other Goblin would, leaning forward on his forearms. A quill was gripped in the long fingers of his right hand.  
  
"I have an account in the name of Anya Eimersohn." She was saying, proferring a small, gold key. Xander was standing beside her, looking distinctly nervous. "I never closed it, so with all the interest rates and everything, there should be lots of money in it for me."  
  
"Anya Eimersohn." The Goblin in front of her was looking through the books and, for the first time in living memory, a Gringotts' Goblin uttered an exclamation of surprise, every eye in the bank swiveling to him.  
  
"It better still be open." Anya muttered to Xander.  
  
"Honey, what is that?"  
  
Anya looked from her boyfriend to the Goblin. "Him? He's a Goblin." She gave the Goblin a bright smile, as he rechecked the dates, his mouth hanging open, revealing sharp rows of teeth. "Don't stare." She added, to Xander. "Its rude."  
  
"There...there seems to be some kind of mistake." The Goblin muttered in as low a voice as he could.  
  
"Mistake?" Anya's voice, as always, seemed to penetrate every ear. Even the Goblin serving Giles was watching the unfolding drama with a combination of curiousity and disguised puzzlement. "What kind of mistake? My life savings were in that account."  
  
"But it says this account was opened in the year 901. AD." Beads of sweat were dotting the Goblin's brow.  
  
"And?"  
  
He blinked at her. "A-and?"  
  
"I'm eleven hundred and twenty years old. Give me my money already."  
  
"Excuse me a moment," Giles' Goblin murmured, sliding off his stool and hurrying to the younger Goblin's aid. "Perhaps I can be of assistance." He offered. "What seems to be the trouble here?"  
  
"I have an account with money in it." Anya explained, scowling at the Goblin. "I want the money and he won't let me have it."  
  
"You are Anya Eimersohn?" She nodded impatiently. "And you opened this account eleven hundred years ago?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"I opened it a thousand and ninety-nine years ago, in 901.AD, like your friend said." She gave him a dark glare. "I thought you were meant to be able to count and now, you won't even let me have my money back!"  
  
The younger Goblin pointed to some figures on the page. "Ah, Miss Eimersohn..."  
  
"I'm called Emerson now. It seemed to fit better with the twentieth century."  
  
"Miss Emerson," The Goblin politely nodded, voice low. "It seems that your account had to be transferred to..." He scanned down the figures. "Vaults twenty one, seventy nine, four hundred and thirty and six hundred and fifty two." He looked up at her. "It grew too extensive to be contained in one vault."  
  
"Ooh!" The former-demon's eyes lit up. "That means I'm rich, doesn't it?" She grinned happily at Xander. "I can buy a new apartment now." She enthused. "One that doesn't smell of mildew and dirty laundry." She paused. "Oh...that was yours."  
  
"Shall I take Miss Emerson down to her vaults?" The younger Goblin asked weakly.  
  
"That would be wise." The Senior one nodded, then returned to his desk, where Giles was still waiting. "I apologise for that." He said, reseating himself and turning the pages of his huge ledger to make a note, before returning his attention to Giles. "You have your key?"  
  
Tapping it, Giles nodded, watching distractedly as the smiling Anya and terrified-looking Xander were led through the immense copper doors that led to the carts that would carry them down to the vaults.  
  
"One moment." The Goblin called for one of his colleagues.  
  
"Follow me, please." The little Goblin said, clad in identical red and gold livery to the rest of the Goblins in the Bank. Giles nodded, still chuckling slightly at what had just happened. To see a Gringotts' Goblin speechless...it had to be savoured.  
  
***  
  
"Nice place." Buffy murmured to herself, looking around the darker alleyways. Despite the blue skies above the buildings, none of the sunlight seemed to penetrate the dingy passages she had strayed into.  
  
The stores had become grimmer as well, hideous things lying in the windows, making her shudder. She was starting to see why Giles had described it as 'fascinating', as opposed to 'a real shopping experience for the fashion-lover'.  
  
She was also thinking up slow and painful ways of killing him for daring to class any of the small shops as 'stores'. None of them even sold shoes or clothes she would wear, unless she wanted to look like a black tent.  
  
A sigh of frustration escaped her and she turned to return to the sunnier parts of Diagon Alley, but she could see no sign of it.  
  
"Brilliant." She grumbled to herself, looking around before starting down a random alley. "Get lost in the icky dark place."  
  
She had taken half a dozen turns before realising that she was just getting herself even more lost, a groan of frustration escaping her. Looking up, she found herself outside a shop called Borgin & Burkes and she looked around as the door beside her opened.  
  
Three men emerged from the shop, all looking around the same age as the Slayer. The two large, muscular, gormless looking ones were flanking the tall, slender young man in the middle. If he hadn't looked so blatantly arrogant, he might have been good-looking.  
  
"Uh...excuse me?"  
  
"Yes?" The middle man said, looking down at her coldly. He was wearing expensive robes, his pale, pointed face twisted in an expression of disgust.  
  
"I seem to have got a bit lost." She looked around hopelessly. "Could you point me in the direction of the main streets?"  
  
His cool grey eyes skimmed over her and he raised a brow. "Indeed."  
  
"Would that be a yes or a no?"  
  
"You could use your wand to find your way back." He sneered.  
  
"Well, if I had one, I would." Hands on her hips, she glared at him.  
  
The other blond brow rose. "If you had one." A cold laugh escaped his thin lips. "How very amusing." Both his beefy cohorts took that as a cue to chuckle in what was meant to be a menacing way.  
  
"Amusing? Amusing how?"  
  
"An American muggle lost in Knockturn Alley."  
  
She stared at him rudely. "Still not seeing the funnies."  
  
"Of course you're not." He murmured. A slender hand rose and a chilly thumb brushed across Buffy's cheek. She recoiled from his touch, a look of contempt on her face. "Its such a wonderful irony that none of your muggle friends would even know what happened to you and no one down here would honestly care."  
  
"You might have to try that explanation thing one more time." She knocked his hand aside and added dangerously. "Touch me again and I break every one of your fingers."  
  
A smirk lifted thin lips up, the shadows around them making the thin man look even more sinister. "Knockturn Alley is for lovers of the Dark Arts and usually those who would happily kill muggles on sight." His eyes drifted suggestively down her body. "Or at least, entertain themselves using a muggle."  
  
"Uh...huh..."  
  
"You might be lucky," He murmured, his voice like chilling silk. "A pretty thing like you..."  
  
"What part of 'Touch me again and I break every one of your fingers' did you not understand?"  
  
The pale-faced man chuckled icily. "I think, Muggle, that you might...no, you will be begging for us all to touch you in a short time..." A wand appeared in his slender hand and he casually remarked. "Imperio."  
  
Buffy felt an odd sensation, as if all her cares had been swept away, as if she didn't have a thing to worry about in the World. That made her mentally raise her brows. Despite the niceness of the feeling, it felt wrong, considering her duty.  
  
"Come with us, Muggle." The pale-faced man whispered softly, moving alongside her. His hand spread on her back, steering her forward.  
  
It would be so easy to obey, to go with them, to do what they wanted.  
  
The pleasant feelings washed over her again as she took a step forward.  
  
"Good girl." His fingers caressed her spine through her short-sleeved shirt. "You'll enjoy this."  
  
Just go with them. Do what they want. Enjoy the peace.  
  
Ew...sleazy guy touching...break all fingers...  
  
Enjoy the peace. Its nice, for a change. It doesn't matter.  
  
What? Are you crazy? You heard the guy! He'll probably screw you and kill you!  
  
And? Its too nice now.  
  
AND??  
  
There was a sickening crack.  
  
"Bloody hell!"  
  
Buffy shook her head, blinking and clearing away the remnants of the spell from her mind. "Okay, I said fingers...so I missed." She said coldly, staring down at the one who had cast the spell.  
  
The pale man was on the pavement on his knees, his hand pressed to his nose. Blood was spurting from his nostrils. "You bitch!"  
  
"Hey, I didn't put a spell on you to make you do what I wanted." She retorted, hands on her hips, voice icy.  
  
"Crabbe, Goyle..." He motioned both of his cronies forward, struggling to get to his feet, dabbing his nose with the corner of his robes.  
  
The two enormous youths cracked their knuckles and flexed their bulging muscles, leering down at the petite blonde. She spread her hands with a chilling grin of anticipation, barely reaching the chest of either of the men.  
  
"Big manly men, all attacking lil ole me?" She batted her eyes. "Oh, heyulp!"  
  
Crabbe was the first to attack.  
  
Before ten seconds had passed, his nose was broken, as was his jaw, one wrist snapped and one shoulder dislocated. Several ribs had been cracked, his head thrust through a shop window and he was sent flying halfway down the street with one savage kick to the gut.  
  
Smashing into a wall, he slumped down on the ground, unconscious.  
  
The pale-faced man seemed to have gone even paler, backing away and trying to make an escape down an alley as Goyle charged in with a bellow of fury for the condition his partner in crime had been left in.  
  
Several swift blows, two roundhouse kicks and a powerful uppercut directly under the immense jaw of the huge man laid him out and he seemed to fall back in slow motion, his face puffy with bruises.  
  
Crashing to the pavement, he lay, limp and unconscious.  
  
The third of the number was about to run down the nearest alley, when a lithe figure used a nearby lamp post to flip over him and landed on her feet in front of him, dusting herself down with a small smile.  
  
"Leaving so soon?"  
  
He raised his wand, but she noticed his hand was shaking. "Avada..."  
  
"I don't think so." A swift motion disarmed him and Buffy casually looped an arm around his waist, squeezing him tightly enough for the ribs to start cracking under the pressure, the skin bruising. He released a whimper. "You know," She smiled brightly up at him. "I think you and me are going to have a nice little talk, don't you?"  
  
A panic-stricken look crossed his face. "You can't lay a finger on me, Muggle." He hissed.  
  
"I don't intend to lay a finger on you." She replied. Relief spread across his features and the Slayer smirked. "A fist maybe, or even a boot, but never a finger..." The relief faded as her arm tightened and several ribs clicked. "I think we're going to be best friends, after this..."  
  
"You'll never get away with..." He trailed off with a cry of pain as she squeeze a tiny bit harder and made his ribs move agonisingly beneath his skin.  
  
Steering the mumbling young man down a deserted alleyway, Buffy chuckled coolly. "You wouldn't believe how many people have said that to me." She murmured. "And you wouldn't believe how many times I have got away with it."  
  
"I'll pay you..."  
  
"They tried that too." She sighed. "That's the funny thing about me...I seem to be the most unbribable girl in the world."  
  
"Just don't hurt me."  
  
This time, Buffy did look at him coldly and said, her voice venomous. "After what you just tried to do?" The smile on her lips was the one that made vampires and demons run in terror. "I won't hurt you." A solid uppercut to the gut doubled him over. She looked down at him with cold disgust. "Much." 


	12. Friends and Family

Notes: Forget what I said in the notes for the last chapter about liking all characters. I forgot to mention that I violently dislike Harry, but â€" by some miracle â€" I managed to write him in a likeable way. Ah well. Also, Wenchie, there's a scene in this for you (Buffy - pussy - lap - Giles: that's all I'm saying). Did I mention how much fun the Weasleys are to write?  
  
"So you found your way back all right?"  
  
"Actually, found my way to the bench and pretty much stayed here." Oz smiled faintly up at Giles, who was weighted down with a handful of bags from the magic supplies shop. "You know you're going to get arrested for all that stuff, right?"  
  
The former Watcher chuckled. "Well, it has been a while since I updated my criminal record."  
  
"Not quite the reassurance I was looking for. You seen Anya and Xander?"  
  
The older man grinned slightly. "Something tells me that we're not going to see them again, until all the shops are closed." He replied, freezing when someone tapped him once one each shoulder, then poked him in the middle of the back. "If you remember that..."  
  
The former Watcher's bags were dropped in Oz's arms and he swung around with a savage haymaker, which Arthur Weasley quickly ducked under, before both men straightened up, laughing and embraced one another. "How could I forget that?"  
  
"Don't tell me that's the normal wizard way to say hello." Willow muttered.  
  
"You're saying that our dad is a normal wizard? Or Mr. Giles?" Ginny laughed, shaking her head. "I'm guessing that that was their... er... equivalent of a secret handshake, when they were at school."  
  
"After seeing what Giles does to Ethan whenever they see each other," The younger girl stated. "It doesn't surprise me at all."  
  
"Look at you, Arthur! I thought you looked bald in the fire, but this!" Giles exclaimed, reaching up to tap on Mr. Weasley's bald palate. "This is just bloody priceless! There are charms to stop balding you know...just look at old Dumble! He never did bother uncharming himself."  
  
"This coming from you, with your receding hairline? And the short hair I might add!" Arthur laughed, shaking his head at his old friend. "What happened to the 'I'm-always-going-to-have-long-hair-and-sod-the- consequences'?"  
  
"Council sent a demon after me." Giles grinned faintly. "It was a choice of give him my hair or let him take my head. Since I have this peculiar attachment to my head..."  
  
"Its called a neck, Ripper."  
  
"I am aware of that." A broad grin crossed the former Watcher's face, and he clapped the balding Arthur on the shoulder. "God, its good to see you again! Its been too long since we insulted each other properly."  
  
"Nice to see that some things never change with you lot." Molly remarked with a smile. Giles spun and stared down at her, a strange emotion crossing his face. "Good to see you again, Rupert." She approached and hugged him. "Its been a long time."  
  
He gazed down at her. "It has." He murmured, then shook himself and looked around to Willow, smiling again. "So, Willow, what do you think of this insane family of yours? Are you ready to do the respectable thing and throw yourself under a bus?"  
  
"They're great." She shot a grin at her twin, the around at the group behind her. "I'll probably still get everyone mixed up for a while. I mean, one brother is a lot for me to take in, but actually having six to remember..."  
  
"Plus, Fred and George aren't exactly going to help." Bill gave his youngest sister's shoulder a squeeze. "Just remember that Bill is the good- looking one." He peered past Giles, to the spot where Oz had just stood up, putting Giles' bags onto the bench. "Hi."  
  
"Hey." The werewolf rounded Giles.  
  
Willow moved to his side, looping her arm through his. "Everyone, this is Oz, my boyfriend."  
  
"The werewolf..." Percy breathed, staring at him.  
  
"Well, human for most of the time." Oz shrugged. "They're all your brothers?" He nodded to the red-haired men. They all eyed the short, green- haired man with interest, their curiousity only matched by Oz's own. "Huh."  
  
"Yep." Willow grinned.  
  
Oz nodded. "Quite a few of them, huh?"  
  
"Don't brother-in-laws get a say?" A deep voice remarked from near the group and Ginny squealed, as her husband stepped behind her and caught her around the waist, hoisting her off her feet.  
  
"Harry! Put me down!"  
  
"No!" Fred and George yelled in mock-despair, clapping the backs of their hands to their foreheads in an overly dramatic gesture of horror. "Don't say the name aloud! We'll have the reporters all over us again!" One of them grinned at the other. "You know, we might have to start calling him You-Know-Who now, so no one'll annoy us for autographs."  
  
Ginny scowled at her brothers. "That's not funny." She struggled out of her husband's arms and steered him around to face Willow. "Willow, this is my husband, Harry Potter. Harry, this is Willow, my sister."  
  
The youngest Weasley couldn't help staring at the man she had read so much about. As it had been in the books, his black hair was unruly and sticking up in all directions with a distinctly wind-swept look. Brilliant green eyes glinted from behind gold-framed glasses, a cheerful smile on his open face.  
  
He was wearing casual muggle clothing, a pair of black jeans and a blood red and gold rugby shirt that, on closer inspection, transpired to actually be a Gryffindor shirt, complete with embroidered badge on the left breast pocket.  
  
Thrusting a hand towards her, he shook her trembling one. "Nice to meet you, Willow." He said, his smile doing little to calm her nerves. She could easily see why her sister had fallen for the striking Wizard.  
  
"L-likewise."  
  
"Let me guess..." Raising his hand, he pushed his hair back from his forehead, revealing the still-clear lightening-shaped scar. "You wanted to see it, didn't you?" She nodded, then looked down at his shirt again.  
  
A wrinkle furrowed her brow. "Is that normal part of the school uniform?"  
  
"This? Nah. Its the merchandise for the Rawlings books." He shook his head. "You should some of the merchandise they came up with. I didn't even get any credit, but I still went out and bought the stuff." He grinned. "Imagine that. Harry Potter going into a shop and buying Harry Potter merchandise...sounds a bit cheesy, eh?" He touched the badge on the pocket. "I couldn't resist though."  
  
"Excuse me," A rough, accented voice put in. "Can you not block the path, please?"  
  
Harry rolled his eyes, looking over his shoulder. "Viktor, if you wanted in on the introductions, you just had to ask."  
  
"No," A slightly shorter, darker young man stepped around Harry with a suggestion of a smile on his surly face. "I am needing to go to the Quidditch shop before it closes." He shook Harry's hand once, gave Willow a cursory look and moved away into the crowds. "I will be seeing you at training, yes?"  
  
"Unless I decide to go on another Honeymoon!" Harry called after him.  
  
"And I will beat you with your own broomstick, Potter!" The Quidditch player called back.  
  
Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "Typical Viktor." He remarked. "He is right, though. We should probably sit down somewhere, so we're not blocking the road." He motioned to the cafe behind them. "Shall we?"  
  
It took a good deal of negotiation and fighting with the charmed tables that didn't want to be pushed together.  
  
Eventually, though, all ten Weasleys, Harry, Oz and Giles had managed to wedge themselves around the four chastised tables. The family barely able to breathe from being squashed together, but they were all laughing and chatting anyway.  
  
A chair or two had been saved for the missing members of the group, but Giles insisted that Anya was unlikely to show up again, until she had spent the whole sack of money she had taken from Gringotts.  
  
As for the whereabouts of Buffy, none of them dared to even guess.  
  
***  
  
Almost an hour after he had told her to meet them back at the cafe, the petite blonde Slayer sauntered up, humming cheerfully to herself. Her shirt was mussed and wrinkled with smudges of dirt on it, her hair tangled.  
  
"Hey Giles!" Swinging into the vacant chair between Giles and Oz, she looked around at the Weasleys, who were all gazing at her with polite confusion. "Uh, hi Willow's family." She nodded around at them.  
  
"You must be...Buffy?" Molly hazarded with a tentative smile.  
  
"Yep! That's me! Slaygal and all that." Charlie, Ron, Fred and George â€" who hadn't bothered looking at the photographs of Willow and her friends before they met their sister â€" stared at her in astonishment. Buffy gave them a lop-sided grin. "I guess you were expecting someone bigger, huh?"  
  
"Ron thought you'd be as big as a football... er...rugby player." Willow said, her eyes dancing. Ron blushed crimson to the roots of his hair, ducking his head over his drink.  
  
"What can I say?" Buffy claimed a bottle of some kind of drink from the middle of the table and examined it, before easily flicking the lid off and drinking some. "Good and super-powerful things come in small packages."  
  
"You're really the Slayer?" Charlie was staring at her. "I mean, you're the one that goes around, bumping off the things that go bump in the night?"  
  
Buffy nodded, flashing a grin at Ron, who - if possible - went even redder. "That's me." She replied. "At least six halted Apocalypses under my belt already." A frown crossed her brow, as she accepted a chunk of toffee from one of the twins. "Or would it be Apocalypsoes...Giles? Whats the plural of apocalypse?"  
  
Giles, though, was suspiciously eyeing a reddish smudge on the short sleeve of the Slayer's shirt. "Buffy, is this blood?"  
  
"Hmm?" She finished the piece of toffee, looked at her Watcher, then down at the patch. "Oh. Yeah." She licked at her teeth trying to dislodge a sticky piece of toffee, then added. "Don't worry. Its not mine."  
  
"What do you..." Before Giles could finish the question, Buffy had turned into a large, fluffy, white kitten. A puzzled-sounding mew escaped her. Giles blinked as the kitten hopped into his lap. "Oh dear God..."  
  
A puff of white fur exploded over him and he found full-sized Buffy sitting in his lap, looking rather startled and confused. The Weasley boys tried to hold in their laughter, but Fred and George fell against each other, chortling.  
  
"Uh...why am I in your lap, Giles?" The Slayer peered down then looked up at her Watcher. "I was just a cat, wasn't I?" She hastily extricated herself from the fur and her Watcher's lap, sitting back on her seat and brushing fur from her shoulders. "Well, that was fun."  
  
Giles raised a brow. "Are you going to-to-to tell me who the blood belongs to?"  
  
"You really want to know?"  
  
"Actually, yes." He gave her the familiar severe look usually reserved for when she was in serious trouble and she grinned weakly at him. "You've been here less than eight hours and I don't want you being arrested or anything like that."  
  
"Here's the thing...he started it....well, he made them start it and..." She sighed, rubbing her head. "Okay, start at the beginning. I got lost in all the streets and ended up in somewhere called Knockdown Alley? Is that right?"  
  
"Knockturn alley?"  
  
"That's it!"  
  
Giles groaned inwardly. Possibly the worst place for any muggle to end up. "What happened?"  
  
Every one of the Weasleys seemed to be fascinated as well. Buffy rubbed at the smudge on her sleeve and pulled a face.  
  
"I was trying to find my way back and come guys came out one of the stores. Two of them looked like that Frankenstein guy from High-school and the other one with a vamp-pale face wouldn't tell me how to get back here."  
  
"So you beat it out of them?" Giles smothered a moan.  
  
"No!" The Slayer looked indignant. "I was being nice to them, until Paleface decided to tell me he didn't like muggles."  
  
"Just a second...what did this guy look like?" Harry asked.  
  
Buffy shrugged. "Tall, thin, pale, pointy face, expensive black coat- thing, looked like he could smell something bad." She grinned weakly. "I thought he was a vamp at first, cos he didn't really look human."  
  
"You don't think..."  
  
Ron's eyes were sparkling with glee. "Malfoy." Leaning over the table, even more interested, he asked. "What happened next?" He looked far too excited about it. "Did you beat him up and teach him a lesson?"  
  
"I think he was trying to hit on me, but he wasn't very good at it.." The Slayer pulled a face at the memory of his cool fingers on her cheek. "I told him to get lost and he did some kind of spell with his wand."  
  
"A spell on you?" Arthur sat up anxiously.  
  
"Yeah, but I broke his nose." She smiled brightly. "I did warn him not to touch me or I'd break all his fingers." She shrugged with mock-innocence. "I seemed to have accidentally missed his fingers and hit his nose instead."  
  
"So that was when he bled on you?" Ron asked hopefully, face alight. "When you smashed the git's nose?"  
  
Buffy shook her head. "That was when he set his two big pet poodles on me." She replied, grimacing. "I've fought vamps bigger than them, but I never thought human guys as thick as that would attack a girl."  
  
"Crabbe and Goyle..." Harry murmured. "We went to school with them and they never actually hit anyone..."  
  
"They didn't actually hit me either. They tried, but they didn't manage." The Slayer said. "If they had been able to, I would have been one dead Slayer a long time ago. If I can't fight two humans, I would never be able to fight groups of demons."  
  
"So," Her Watcher was looking pale. "Not only did you get lost in Knockturn Alley, but you beat up two wizards as well."  
  
"Three wizards." Buffy looked down at her hands, then cried out in annoyance. "Damnit! They broke my nails!"  
  
"Three?" Giles asked faintly.  
  
"Well, the blond guy tried to run off, after his boys didn't manage to beat me up." A cool smile crossed her lips. "I taught him to be more polite to muggles." She paused, then added pensively. "Broke every one of his fingers as well." There was a pause. "Maybe a few ribs as well. And his nose, of course."  
  
"Oh dear God..." Giles moaned burying his head in his arms. "I'm going to exiled for bringing a maniac in here."  
  
"Well, they did start it, Giles." Buffy remarked calmly, wiping at the blood on her sleeve with a napkin. "I dumped them all in the nearest trash cans and that's when I ended up with the blood on my shirt." She raised her eyes. "Lets just call it the revenge of the Muggles." She gave up on the stain. "They deserved all they got for what they were going to do."  
  
"What d-d-do you mean?"  
  
"Well, they said I was a pretty muggle and that muggles could be used for killing or for some kind of entertainment." She said, her voice cool and level. "Something tells me that they weren't going to make me sing Karaoke for them."  
  
"Make you?" Arthur and Giles both seemed to go rigid, Bill drawing a sharp breath between his teeth. Molly's hand came to her mouth and she shook her head. Shocked looks passed between the rest of the family, Willow, Oz and Buffy looking confused.  
  
"Buffy," Giles seemed to have gone very pale. "Can you remember the words of the spell he used on you?"  
  
"Uh..." The Slayer frowned. "Imperial? Umpire? Something like that?"  
  
"Imperio." Arthur whispered shakily.  
  
"That's it!" Buffy nodded, grinning. Then, she noticed the grim expressions on the faces around her. "Uh...I guess that's bad?"  
  
"Its one of the unforgivable curses." Arthur said tightly, one of his hands curling into a fist on the table. "It's meant to be illegal for any Wizard to perform them, but some still do and seldom get caught..."  
  
"Uh...why unforgivable?" The Slayer asked, curious. "It wasn't a real big deal." She marked off the actions on her fingers. "I told him not to touch me, he did the hocus pocus, then I broke his nose when he touched me again."  
  
"You fought the Imperio curse?"  
  
Buffy gave her watcher a patient look. "Giles, you know I've seen what badness spells can do. Remember the whole Vamp-Willow thing?" Willow went crimson, ducking her head quickly. "I know what its like, I know its not right, plus the guy was so sleazy I didn't want him touching me." She made a backwards, upwards jabbing motion with her elbow. "Cracked his nose and he looked like he was in shock. I guess not many people do that, huh?"  
  
"We wouldn't even have the evidence to arrest him..." Arthur said grimly.  
  
"You mean if I said that they did something to me, no one would believe it?"  
  
Molly nodded, touching her husband's hand to calm him. "I'm afraid so, Buffy." She said, her face pale. "Even if we conjured the previous spell performed by his wand, he's experienced enough to know to do at least half a dozen other spells to nullify the evidence."  
  
"I'm guessing that means I shouldn't have broken his wand, huh?"  
  
"You...broke his wand?"  
  
Buffy grinned weakly. "Uh...sometimes I forget how strong I was..." She spread her hands in a helpless gesture. "He was saying Avara or something like that and I didn't really wanna be at the receiving end of another spell."  
  
"Avada Kedavra...my God...surely he wouldn't..." Giles shook his head in horror. He seemed unable to grasp what he had just been told. "Buffy, do you realise that he was about to perform the killing curse on you?"  
  
The Slayer raised a brow. "Its not like people haven't done stuff like that before."  
  
"No, Buffy, you don't understand this." The former Watcher's face was as pale as Molly and Arthur's. "The killing curse can't be stopped by anything. Not even being the Slayer could save you from it. Only one person has ever survived it in wizarding history." He nodded to Harry.  
  
The blonde seemed completely unruffled by what she had just been told. "I'm still alive, so no biggie." She shrugged, drinking another mouthful of butterbeer.  
  
"Is she always this calm?" Arthur marveled.  
  
"Normally she walks out of a fight with a few bumps and bruises." Giles murmured, looking affectionately in the blonde's direction. "This has been a good day for her."  
  
"Someone trying to kill you is a good day?" Ron stared at her.  
  
Buffy laughed. "People, usually vampires and demons and things, try and kill me every day, so this was just a regular day for me." She replied, raising her bottle to take another drink, but pausing. "Actually, that was a quiet afternoon."  
  
"So Malfoy's wand was broken?" Arthur asked quickly.  
  
"Yup." Buffy smirked. "Both of them." Every man at the table winced. "I thought you might wanna have a look at it, in case he was going to get in trouble." Reaching behind her back, she withdrew a handful of splinters and a stake. Picking out several pieces, she handed them across the table to Mr. Weasley.  
  
Bill eyed the stake. "So that's what you use to kill the vampires?"  
  
"Yeah," Buffy looked at the stake with a faint smile. "My boring stick."  
  
"May I?" The Slayer nodded, handing the stake over to the oldest Weasley. "Man... you kill demons with a little thing like this?" Buffy nodded wryly. "Remind me never to get on the bad side of you."  
  
"Like Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy?" Ron couldn't help sniggering, despite the severe looks on his family's faces.  
  
Bill nodded. "Exactly." 


	13. Fond Farewells

****

The Eighth Weasley - Chapter Thirteen

Fond Farewells

Notes: Sorry to any Draco fans (and Collie! :-P). More Draco-bashing ensues here.

And Bob shows...erm...face again. Just thought I'd warn you. Also, this is another of those short chapters cos I'm lazy and its been a long day. (And I'm actually meant to be writing to papers for uni just now...oh bugger...)

And wow – I feel brainy. I just realised that Diagon Alley is a play on the word diagonally... is there a significance there? Hmm...time for me to whip out the old psychoanalysis books.

______________________________

"You sure you're going to be okay, Will?"

The pack of semi-magical beings were gathered on the pavement outside the front door of The Leaky Cauldron, cases, bags and boxes being loaded into the back of a single black cab.

Buffy had already dived briefly into the cab to claim one of the fold-down seats, before jumping back out to say her farewells to her friend, much to the amusement of the cabbie.

The youngest Weasley nodded, embracing her friend tightly. "I'll be fine," She looked back at her parents, standing in the doorway of the Leaky Cauldron and smiled. "Mom and dad'll make sure I'm okay."

"They better," the Slayer gave them a look, then smiled faintly. "Sorry I couldn't stay longer, but duty calls..."

"And you were asked to leave the area," Anya put in helpfully. "I don't they that the nice wizards were very pleased that you beat some of them up, although that white haired one was annoying and I think I would like to hit him." 

She was wearing a new set of expensive, fashionable clothing, her highlighted hair done stylishly and expensive jewellery visible at her neck and her ears. Several rings lined her hands.

Next to her, Xander looked scruffier than ever, wearing his multi-layers of baggy t-shirt and shirts, that hung passed the waistband of his loose jeans, the frayed ends of which trailed along the pavement.

If anything, they looked an even odder couple than before.

That was clearly something, which was beginning to rankle Anya. She had tried to gently suggest that her boyfriend would looks less...cheap if he went and bought himself some decent clothes.

Unfortunately, Xnader was comfortable the way he was.

The mild bickering had exploded in a blazing row several days before, which had come to a head when Anya had stormed out of their room and down to the pub, where she proceeded to get very drunk and terrified Tom with stories of her life.

She was still there when Professor Dumbledore had shown up to save the barman's sanity, letting her pour forth her woes on his sympathetic ears, before seeing her back to her room, where Xander was waiting with an apology for upsetting her.

It was simply very sad, the old wizard had noted to the muggle, that yet another difference had been forced between them, when they were finally overcoming the obstacles that had caused them so many problems already.

Xander had been unable to disagree.

In this case, it was the money.

Apparently her witch's fortune, amassed over a millennium, had left her incredibly wealthy, barely a handful of the gold coins paying for a whole new wardrobe and four full vaults still waited to be tested to their limits, while Xander lived in a basement and worked in low-paid part-time jobs.

A full sack of gleaming golden Galleons had been hauled up to the muggle- wizard currency exchange, near the entrance to Diagon Alley and the small, squat Wizard in the booth had almost wept when he saw how much she had wanted converted.

He had tried to convince her that she didn't need as much, but an hour long lecture from the former vengeance demon had otherwise convinced him that she _did_ need all the money and that she needed it _now_.

She had got it, as well, in time for their departure, which was - as she had pointed out - due to Buffy being evicted from the magical area.

"Well, yeah..." Buffy reluctantly admitted. 

It had taken almost a week for any wizard in the Ministry to get up enough nerve to actually dare to approach her after the incident with Malfoy and his two cronies in Knockturn Alley. 

"No one told me I wasn't allowed to kick his ass again, though..."

The most recent Minister of Magic, Aristotle Wilson, had eventually been informed of what had happened and – although the smashed wand of Malfoy provided some feeble evidence against the arrogant young wizard – he had solemnly told the Slayer that she would have to leave Diagon Alley, after complaints about her behaviour from a Mr. Malfoy and friends.

Standing in the private parlour, beside the fireplace, he had been accompanied by the cool-faced Malfoy. The Minister had been sincere and genuinely apologetic about everything, making Malfoy utter a thoroughly unconvincing apology to her.

She had accepted the reasoning given to her, warmly smiling at the Minister and cheerfully saying that she was just doing what she thought was her duty. The Minister had seemed very surprised by her attitude, clearly expecting her to react violently and unreasonably.

The young man with the cold smile and pointed face had been sneering at her, as the Minister left with an apologetic look on his face. The Minister had also added – sweetly, she thought – that she would no doubt be welcome, again, under less fraught circumstances.

However, as soon as the charming older Wizard had departed the room, Malfoy had strutted across the room as if he owned it, towards her and made some pointed remark about muggles going back to where they belonged and directed a very insulting comment at her.

It was a stupid thing to do.

Of course, that was a second before she knocked half his teeth out.

Giles could not have been more relieved that his wand was functioning once again, freezing her with an Impedimenta spell, before she could do more damage to the young man sprawled on the floor at her feet.

"Take a hint, Malfoy," he said coldly, down to the youth, who was scowling up at him. "You've made an enemy of the Slayer and when you make an enemy of the Slayer, you've made an enemy of her friends too. Powerful friends at that." His smile was cold and chilling. "You don't want to be on her bad side. Or mine."

"The Slayer? Do you think I'm stupid?" Malfoy had spat disdainfully, wiping trickles blood from his mouth and wincing. "Everyone knows she's just a legend conjured up by Wizards to stupify stupid muggles."

"If that's the case," the former Watcher had smirked. "Explain how this sweet little muggle with no magical abilities kicked the arses of you and your friends."

"We were drunk," Malfoy said quickly, a little too quickly. "We fell over, before she touched us, but this was the easiest way for us to get rid of her." There was a flash from Giles' wand that had sounded as a resounding crack, sending Malfoy hurtling against the musty, yellowing wall and pinning him there.

"She," He said quietly, holding the younger Wizard against the wall with the spell and pointing to Buffy. "is the Slayer. She is under my care and protection and she has friends you really wouldn't want to piss off if you had half a brain cell. I would have thought your dear daddy would have taught you not to pick on people more powerful than you."

"See me quaking, old man," Malfoy was dropped to the floor in a tangled heap of robes.

Giles had smiled down at him. "You should, you stupid little boy," he said, his voice carrying a dangerous note. Bending and catching the youth's arm, the former Librarian gripped it tightly as he hauled him upright. "You have no idea what you're dealing with," His wand seemed to have vanished, as his fist met the young man's jaw. "And don't insult her again," he added, releasing Malfoy's arm and letting him fall to the floor, leaning heavily against the wall. "It's frightfully rude."

Picking up the frozen Slayer under his arm, he had hastily carried her – unprotesting for once – out of the quiet room, before she broke through the spell and went back to finish the job. 

The last thing he had seen, when he shut the door, was Draco Malfoy scowling darkly after them.

Xander laughed weakly. "Buffy, you really have a way with people," 

He was helping Giles to load the black cab up. The Englishman's supplies included numerous brown paper bags, knotted in the corners, and parcels wrapped in brown paper and bound with string, containing all manner of herbs and items for potions.

"Hey, Giles was the one who broke his jaw," The Slayer pouted, but it gave way to a wry grin.

"That might have been the case," Pushing a large, canvas satchel into the boot between two cases, Giles straightened up and adjusted his glasses. "But I-I-I still claim that I had a-a perfectly good reason for responding with violence."

"Yeah...you didn't like the guy," Buffy replied for him.

Willow couldn't help laughing. "You guys are terrible."

"But you're going to miss us, right?" the blonde said.

"How could I not?" Willow's eyes filled with tears. "Its going to be so weird...a slay-free summer for me..." She hugged her friend tightly. "You don't get killed or anything! I'll be writing to you all the time."

"What about me?" Xander opened his arms and promptly found them full of half-laughing, half-crying red-haired Witch.

"Of course I'm going to miss you, Xan," She hugged him tightly and kissed him on the cheek.

"Hey!" Anya protested, grabbing Xander's arm to pull him back from the red head. "You already have a cute werewolf boyfriend. Leave mine alone!" Both Xander and Willow looked at her and she gave him a sheepish look. "Oh...right. Saying farewell doesn't mean you want to date her. I forgot."

"Its okay, Anya."

"It...it is?"

Willow nodded. "He is your boyfriend, after all," To the former demon's surprise, she – too – received a warm hug from the Witch. "Look after him, okay?"

"Okay!" Anya nodded enthusiastically. "Now I'm glad I got a present for you, since we're leaving you behind."

She vanished back into the Leaky Cauldron for several seconds, Willow suddenly very nervous. The millennium-old girl may have been around for a while, but her gifts tended to be... outlandish at the best of times.

"Xander...?" Willow began to ask, but the look on his face said he had less idea than she had.

Emerging, a large cube-shaped bundle almost obscuring her face, Anya eagerly thrust it into Willow's hands, the bright green wrapping bound with a gaudy golden bow. "Be careful!" she added quickly. "You don't want to break it."

"Can I open it now?"

"Of course," She gave her boyfriend a coy look, as she added, "I want to see you pretend to be pleased with it, like Xander does when I give him a gift."

Even more dubious, the youngest Weasley sat down on the step of The Leaky Cauldron, her parents standing just inside the door, and ripped the paper off the large object, which transpired to be a brass cage, complete with a...

"Oh my God!" Willow squealed. "An owl! You got me an owl!"

"I know I did," Anya nodded patiently. "That's what I asked the shop keeper for. I would have been very irritated if he had given me a cat."

"Wow! Anya! This is great!"

The sandy-haired girl looked surprised. "You do like it?"

"Its perfect," Willow was staring in at the small barn owl that was blinking at her out of large, golden eyes. Placing the cage on the step, she stood and quickly hugged the former demon again. "Its great! Thank you so much!"

A pleased look spread across Anya's face. "Xander," she murmured, when Willow stepped back from her. "I'm feeling strange...all tingly and warm. Is it normal to feel like that when you give a gift and someone reacts correctly to it?"

"Yeah, honey," Xander nodded, hugging her.

"Ah. I think I like it," She gave the witch a faint smile. "You have no excuse not to write to us now, Willow," she said, her voice filled with mischief. "You can write and tell us how much you miss us all and how bad the weather is."

"Don't worry," Willow smiled back. "I will."

The couple got into the cab after one last hug, followed by Buffy.

A cry from inside the bar made the blonde freeze and she looked around as Tom hurried out, something large and round held under his arm. "Miss Summers! I hoped I would catch you before you left!"

"Hi Tom." She smiled up at him from inside the cab.

"I hear you made a friend while you were here," He brought the round object in front of him, revealing the mirror from her bedroom. "Um...Bob insisted that he wished to join you on the way back to America."

"You're letting me take Bob?" A delighted look crossed the Slayer's face. "I thought he wasn't allowed to leave."

"Well, a mirror singing 'Nine hundred and ninety nine million, nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety nine green bottles standing on the wall' for an hour without ceasing does tend to change your mind, although I would understand if you wish to leave it," Tom gave the mirror a dark look, when it giggled. "I hope you're very happy together." 

Buffy accepted the large, round mirror with an ecstatic grin. "Thanks!" She reached up to kiss Tom on the cheek. He blushed to the tips of his ears. "And don't worry about Bob. It'll behave."

"You might have to shrink it a little to get on the hair-o-plans." He added in an undertone. "And if he annoys you, you could always break him. Into a lot of small pieces. Really."

Buffy patted the mirror fondly. "I don't think I'll be needing to do that, Tom," she said with a wide smile. "Will, I, Bob?"

"You are the fairest of them all, Buffy."

"See, Tom," Buffy grinned again. "We understand each other perfectly. Nothing to worry about," Tom shook his head and chuckled to himself before turning and hurrying back into The Leaky Cauldron.

Standing beside the cab, Giles paused to embrace the youngest Weasley. "You have fun for the summer, Willow," he said softly. "Molly and Arthur...they're good people. They'll take care of you."

"I know, Giles," she replied quietly, holding onto him for a long moment. After all, he was a surrogate father to her an now, he was going to be...gone. "Look after the others for me, okay?"

He nodded once, joining the trio in the cab, as Oz slowly approached her, taking both her hands in his. "You're going to be fine here, Will," he said, his voice as low and calm as ever. "You know where to find me, if you need me to come."

"Back to Tibet, huh?" 

He had spent several months there in the previous year, learning to control the wolf in him - during their temporary separation after the Verruca incident - and they had discussed the idea of him going back, to complete the training he could receive.

"No time like the present," He gave her the smile that only he could.

Tears seeped from her eyes, trickling down her cheeks, as she kissed him fiercely. Pulling him close to her, she pressed her face against his neck, hugging him tightly. "I'm going to miss you, Oz. I'm going to miss you so much."

"Likewise," he murmured against her cheek. "You just learn magic, Will. I'll be back before you know it," Drawing back from her, he kissed her gently, once more. "Enjoy your time with your family," he said softly. "I love you."

"Likewise," That drew a small smile from him, as he reluctantly backed into the cab, his fingers lingeringly touching her. "Bye, Oz."

Tears were streaming down her face and her parents moved forward to embrace her comfortingly, as the door of the taxi cab shut and her friends waved through the windows, the engine starting.

Waving until the cab vanished around a corner, Willow hastily wiped her face with the back of her shaking hands.

"Are you all right, dear?" Molly asked, touching her daughter's shoulder.

"Yeah...I think so." 

When her mother gently drew her into her arms, the tears Willow thought she had managed to quell started afresh and she felt Molly's hand gently stroking her hair and heard her mother's voice murmuring comfortingly. 

***

After almost an hour of arranging herself and making sure she hadn't forgotten anything, Willow joined her parents by the fire in the parlour, wondering what they were going to do about travelling back to their home.

She didn't even know where that home was.

Yes, she had read about it in the books, but she wasn't exactly sure of where it was located, in relation to Diagon Alley.

"Ready, dear?" Molly asked, smiling.

Willow looked down at the dish of silvery-green powder her mother was offering her. "Uh...huh?"

"Floo powder." Arthur explained, dashing a handful of the stuff into the crackling flames, in the wide fireplace. They immediately sprang higher, turning a brilliant green colour. "You throw some in, step into the fire and say where you want to go."

"We're going to 'The Burrow'." Mrs. Weasley reminded her. Her father took her bags and her owl with a smile. "You father'll show you what to do and then we can follow him."

They both watched as Mr. Weasley stepped into the flames and loudly and clearly called out "The Burrow" before vanishing in a whooshing swirl of green smoke and flame, along with all of Willow's possessions.

"Does it hurt?" Willow inquired, nervously eyeing the flames that had turned back to their normal colour. They looked a bit too hot and fiery for her liking and she really didn't want to step into them.

"Not at all dear." Molly replied, offering the pot again. "Just speak clearly and you'll get there right away."

Hesitantly, Willow took a handful of the green, dust-like powder and tossed it into the fire, stepping in quickly. The flames ticklishly licked her ankles, ash and smoke making her eyes water, but she called out as loudly as she could.

"The Burrow!" 


	14. The Burrow

****

The Eighth Weasley - Chapter Fourteen

The Burrow

Notes: Here I was feeling incredibly clever to have realised that Diagon Alley was a play on words by JKR. It took me another six hours to realise Knockturn Alley was the same (Nocturnally). Doh.  
  
Anyway, here we have Willow/Family stuff going on. Forgive me if it seems out of character/location etc and whatnot, but stupid me forgot to pick up books 2 and 4, so I could check my details.

_________________________________

Willow felt sick.

She felt really, really sick.

Her whole world was spinning and even if she opened her eyes a crack, she knew she would spew all over the place and since she was flying through some kind of fireplace-portal-thing, it probably wasn't a good thing.

A jarring thump of something hard against her head made her open her eyes in panic, the second before she flopped out of a copper-framed fireplace and onto a black and white floor.

"Willow!" one voice yelled.

A second voice added approvingly, "You made it!" 

Two pairs of hands caught her by the arms, hauling her to her feet.

"First time and everything!" another voice said as she felt a rough brush dust down her clothing. Squinting between ash-crusted lashes, she saw a flash of red hair, but couldn't decide if it was hers, one of her siblings' or even one of her parents'.

She was dropped into a seat, still trying to get herself orientated. A wand tapped her firmly on the head and suddenly, she could open her eyes.

Fred and George were standing over her, both grinning broadly, and Ron plopped himself down in one of the spare chairs, blowing ash off the brush he had dusted her down with.

"All right, Will?" he inquired, tossing the brush over his head and punching the air triumphantly when it landed in a bucket beside the sink. "Thought you might be a bit squiffy after coming by floo..."

Swallowing down the nauseous feeling she had, Willow nodded, but didn't dare open her mouth unless she was sick.

"Just take a minute to get your breath back, Willow," her father said and smiled slightly as he disappeared through the door into the hall with her bags, her oldest brother aiding him.

Looking around, she found herself sitting at a fairly small table that could fit six people around it at most, in a small, cosy kitchen with wooden cupboards lining most of the wall space.

The most noticeable thing, though, was a large Grandfather clock standing in the corner of the room, with numerous gleaming gold hands and no numbers visible on the face whatsoever.

All of them – except one – was pointed at the word 'Home' on the face, but that single hand was moving rapidly to join the others. There was a loud ping from the clock and she turned to see her mother roll out of the hearth and land on her feet.

Pointing her wand at herself, the dust exploded off Molly's clothing in a puff of green and grey and she sighed. "That's better," She gave Willow a smile. "I see you arrived safe and well."

"She hasn't spoken yet, mum. I think she's in shock."

"Do you blame me?" Willow looked up with a mischievous look in her eyes. "I mean, your faces are the first things I saw when I opened my eyes. That's enough to shock anyone!"

"Yeah!" Fred preened. "What with our stunning good looks and all."

"I'm thinking more of terror," Willow pulled a face. "Not even vampires could make me stop speaking with shock...although there was this one time when a great big one tried... er...never mind..." She looked up at Molly. "Can you show me around, mom?"

"Why don't we do that?" George offered with a smirk.

"Yeah," Fred added. "We could introduce her to the ghoul in the attic. They'd get on very well."

Ron chuckled at the nervous expression on Willow's face. "Don't worry about those two," he said, giving his elder twins a warning look. "They know that if they annoy you, I'll annoy them."

Fred and George both shut up very quickly, scowling mutinously at their younger brother, who merely grinned at them as he got to his feet, towering over both of them and his younger sister.

"How about I show Willow around, mum? You can have a cup of tea and take the weight off your feet, eh?"

Molly raised a brow slowly. "What are you up to, Ronald?"

"Me, mum?" He gave her a completely innocent grin, which did nothing to calm her suspicions. "Absolutely nothing." He looked to his brothers. "Am I?" They muttered something unintelligible, which was probably just as well. "C'mon, Will. I'll show you the room Bill and Percy added for you."

Willow gave him a suspicious look. "Added...?"

"Well, here's the thing," Looping an arm through hers, Ron led her towards the door of the kitchen, leaving Molly squirting soap from her wand into her elder sons' mouths for swearing. "We had five bedrooms, but since you've come to visit, all of the unhitched family members want to hang around and see what you're like."

"Uh...huh..."

"So, since that means there would be all of us, except Ginny and Bill, it would be a bit of a squash, with there being eight of us..." He gave her a grin. "So, we stuck another bedroom on the side of the house, especially for you...and Ginny, if you don't mind sharing when she drops in. She's never had a sister before and she kinda wants to see what you're like."

"When you say stuck on..."

"Oh, we used spellotape and some kind of glue," His teeth flashed. "Don't worry. It's very sticky. I don't think it'll fall off any time soon…George bet it would last a week. I give it two."

The youngest Weasley blanched. "S-spellotape and glue?" Ron glanced down at her, then laughed.

"I'm joking, Will."

"Oh...right..." She squeaked in surprise when her year older brother grabbed her in a hug that lifted her a foot off the floor. "Ron!"

He grinned again. "Don't take things so seriously, Will," he cautioned her as he deposited her back on the floor, looking flushed and like she needed to fall over. "It won't do much good, especially around Fred and George."

"Okay already!" She stepped back quickly, when he feinted to lunge in to pick her up in another hug. "See! Smiling!" She pointed at the grin that she hadn't been able to keep from her face. "Terrified of you, but smiling!"

Ron nodded approvingly. "That's better," They were halfway down the hall when they heard a noise from the living room. "Oi! Ginny! Get your tongue out your husband's mouth and help me show your sister around."

A loud protest came from Harry a moment before Ginny exited the living room, her hair mussed and clothes rumpled, but with a broad smile on her rosy face. "Hiya, Willow," she said.

"We didn't interrupt anything, did we?"

Ginny's grin got a little wider and she licked her lips. "Not exactly something we haven't done before," she replied naughtily, smoothing down her shirt which had risen up her ribs. "Just never in the living room..."

"Oh!" Willow went pink.

"Ginny! Stop embarrassing the girl! She hasn't been raised with six brothers!" Ron tutted down at his sister. "She has to learn to cope with being around us before we start chucking filthy meanings into everything." 

"What better way to introduce her to our way of thinking, Ron?"

Ron shook his head. "You are such a filthy little perv, Gin," he said with a mournful sigh. "Why can't you be more like Willow?"

"Um...well, I do have a wolfy boyfriend..."

"You ever make him...howl?"

"RON!" Ginny slapped Ron's arm and hard.

The red-haired man laughed, his eyes dancing. "Well, I did try and behave," he said, an apologetic grin on his face. 

Willow made a squeaking sound, her face scarlet.

"I think we embarrassed her," Ginny said.

"Naaaaaaaw," their brother laughed, slinging his arm around Willow's shoulders and hugging her against his side. "Come on. Let's show her up to her room, so she knows where she can hide from us if it gets too much for her innocent head to deal with..."

Ron grabbed both of the twins by the arms, steering them quickly up the staircase that seemed to go both up and down at the same time, which disorientated the youngest of the Weasleys.

By the time they reached the top of the stairs, they were walking at right-angles to the floor on the lower levels of The Burrow.

They had to crawl along the walls, using the banister as a climbing rail, to regain their footing at the top of the newest staircase, where Arthur was waiting for them, smiling broadly.

"I hope you like it, Willow," he said, drawing back as they literally fell through the door and landed in a heap on the floor. "Bill and Percy wanted to make it rather special... we thought it safer to let Bill do the decorating though."

Unsteadily getting to her feet, Willow gasped, looking around.

The room was her ideal room, similar to her room back in Sunnydale, but with wide windows looking out on the garden, a double bed beneath the windows and a beautiful desk made of what seemed to be willow wood.

The curtains and the covers on the bed were all a deep shade of magenta and a bright green beanie dragon had been placed on the pillows. Crossing the floor, Willow picked it up with a smile. "From Charlie?"

"Since he couldn't be here," Bill nodded, smiling.

"You guys did all this for me?" Hugging the beanie, the young witch rose on her toes and peered out of the windows at the steep drop into the garden. She could see tiny figures running around in the long grass, but couldn't make out what they were.

Bill shrugged modestly, relieved Percy wasn't there to boast about the design he had added. "Well, it was a choice of doing some D.I.Y. to build this or giving you a nice tent in the back garden."

"Couldn't we put Percy in a tent in the garden anyway?" Ron asked hopefully. "And seal it and leave him there?"

"Ron!" His father tried to sound very annoyed, but only succeeded in sounding amused. "I hope you're joking."

"Of course dad," Ron gave him an innocent look. "But could you tell me where we put that old muggle tent and what the sealer spell was anyway?" He winked at Willow, his eyes dancing. "Just in case of emergencies, of course."

"Well, if its just in case of emergencies…" Arthur sighed heavily.

***

"And when you hit one just right..." Willow made a forward jabbing motion with her fork. "Poof! The explode into dust! It makes this weird kinda rushing noise and then, poof, they're gone!"

The Weasleys were in the living room for dinner, for a change, the only room that had enough space for all of them to sit together.

Willow and Ginny were sitting on the floor near the fireplace, their plates on trays in their laps, although Ginny had taken Willow's glass and put it out of the way, while her twin performed re-enactments of vampire Slaying.

"When you say...poof?" Charlie was the one who asked.

"Poof, like a puff of smoke."

Bill was snickering. "She doesn't know..."

"Don't know...what?"

"Poof..."

Willow's face was an image of confused worry. "I-I know it means something in British, but I don't know what cos I didn't wanna ask Spike why he called Angel a magnificent poof..."

"Angel and Spike being...?"

"Vampires. Angel is the big broody one that Buffy dated and Spike is the skinny blond one who says Angel made him."

"And this...Spike calls the big one a poof?" Willow nodded, trying to lift some peas on her fork, but they rolled off before the fork came anywhere close to her open mouth. "In that case, poof means..."

"Fred, don't you dare..."

"Mum, if she goes to Hogwarts using the word 'poof' in the wrong context..."

Molly sighed. "All right, Fred, but just this once."

"Willow," Sitting on the floor on the opposite side of the living room with his twin, Fred placed his tray on the floor and gave his youngest sister a serious look. "We have to discuss your use of the word for froofy little gay boys..."

"WHAT!?!"

George snickered. "Poof, poofter...either way they both mean the same thing..."

"Spike was calling Angel that...?" Willow started to giggle, covering her mouth with a hand. "Omigod! Spike...he was calling Angel a...no wonder Angel tried to beat him up so often..."

"I can't believe you didn't know that," Ginny remarked, chuckling.

"Personally, I can't believe you know two vampires..." Harry said. He was sitting beside his wife, watching the animated discussion flying between the family. He liked Willow a lot. She was so very like Ginny in so many ways.

"How did you meet them?" Percy asked. He, Bill, Charlie and their parents had the seats and couches. While he still seemed a little more stuffy than the other Weasleys, he did look genuinely interested.

"Angel was kinda good-guy stalking Buffy," Willow explained around a mouthful of steak pie. "He started helping us, then there was this whole thing where he went evil, but that's all over now."

"He's the one with the soul?"

"Mmm-hmm," Willow nodded. "Spike showed up a year after Buffy arrived in Sunnydale and he was..." She visibly shuddered. "He was scary. I mean really, really scary. On a wiggens scale of one to ten, he was way up in the tens. First time we saw him, he told Buffy he was gonna kill her."

"He didn't just try to do it?"

"Nope," Willow answered. "He crashed parent-teacher night at the school and Buffy had to save us. He tried to kill her a few times, then tried to kill Angel as well, but he got his ass kicked...then Angel went evil and Spike..." She frowned. "I don't if I believe this, but he made a deal with Buffy to save his vampire girlfriend. He helped her to beat Angel. He left after that."

"Blimey...I'm guessing there aren't many like that...I mean, vampires that'll fight with the Slayer," Charlie muttered.

"It doesn't make him a good guy," Willow said emphatically. "Big no on the good guy stakes. He came back the next year and kidnapped me and Xander to make me do a love-spell for him to get his girlfriend back."

"Oh!" Molly gasped. "Did he hurt you?"

Willow shook her head. "He was...kinda drunk. He hit Xander, knocked him out...he kept me conscious..." A strange grin crossed the youngest Weasley's face. "He had a nervous breakdown on me..."

"You what?" Fred asked.

"He started crying on my shoulder and telling me about what had happened to him and his girlfriend...okay, yeah, he was gonna bite me then, but I-I-I said I wouldn't do the spell for him if he bit me..."

Molly had gone white. "Oh my..."

"He went to get supplies...I don't what happened...Buffy ended up catching up with him and he left...then Oz and Cordelia found us...and then more badness..." She shuddered again. "But he was gone...and then he came back this year..."

"He better not have tried anything..."

Willow looked down at her plate. Her cheeks had gone scarlet. "Um..."

"Will?" Ron asked.

"Well, I was kinda down cos Oz and I...we were having a kinda trial separation thing... there was a whole mess with a female werewolf and I was all mopey and Spike showed up at the dorm..."

"If you say you shagged him, I'm going to be sick," Bill stated.

"N-n-no. Not exactly."

"Oh?"

"He...he tried to bite me, I mean properly bite me..." One hand came up and touched the side of her neck. "I don't think I've ever been so scared...but it was kinda..." She was blushing furiously. "It was kinda...kinky...when he didn't manage, he...I thought there was something wrong with me...he said...he said he would have turned me in a second...he even remembered what I was wearing the year before...I mean, he noticed me and not many people had done that..."

"He would have...turned you? Turned you where?" Percy inquired carefully.

"Turned me into a vampire, doofus," Willow said.

"Eep!"

"You...a vampire?" Ron threw back his head and started laughing. "You'd be too shy and blushy for a vampire!"

Willow's face went beet-red. "Actually," she mumbled. "I wouldn't."

"Pardon?"

"Um...seen a vampire me..."

Arthur was smiling slightly. "Ah, yes, I think Rupert told me a bit about this..."

Willow's face was redder than her hair. "It was an accident."

"How...?"

The youngest Weasley avoided looking at Percy. "Anya was trying to get something from an alternate dimension...the spell went wrong and vamp-me decided to pop out instead and went on a wander around Sunnydale. Buffy and Xander saw her and were totally wigged out..."

"What was she like?" Ginny asked, fascinated.

Willow pulled a face. "I don't think crazy is nearly emphatic enough a word to describe her," she said. "She...she was evil...skanky...a little bit gay...she wore solid black leather and I had to use her clothes as a disguise...definitely an experience that wasn't of the good..."

"Hold on a second..." Harry said. "Did you say she was...a little bit gay?"

"Um...yeah..." Willow's face went beetroot again. She was pushing a pea around her plate, staring at it as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. "She...found me in the library and started licking my neck and asked if I...uh...wanted to...um...play..."

"Oh...my...gawd..." Ron gaped.

"Did you say no?" 

"FRED! Of course I said no!"

"Well, it would only be like you doing yourself..."

"FREDERICK WEASLEY!"

Fred had the decency to look apologetic, for Willow's benefit. "Um...sorry, Will, I didn't mean that..." he waited until his mother lowered her wand. "But you were tempted, weren't ya?"

"FRED!"

"Fred, I know you're my brother and I'm starting to see you're a pervert, I'm really not into the whole necrophilia thing, as much as you seem to like it..." Fred's jaw dropped at the innocent tone in Willow's voice. She smirked at him.

"Hey! I don't like that kind of stuff!"

Willow gave him an innocent look that the family had only seen on Ginny, when she had wandered out of her husband's bed, first thing in the morning. "And if you keep saying that, you'll believe it one day..."

"Willow..."

"Don't 'Willow' me, mister. I know Xander and I knew Jesse. You're gonna have to work a lot harder to really embarrass me."

Fred raised a brow. "Is that a challenge?"

"You bet it is, Mister!" Fred turned to his twin, who smirked. "And that goes for you, too George."

"Give us time, Will..."

Willow, in a gesture of maturity, stuck her tongue out. 

"Love you too, Will..."

Unseen by their children, Molly and Arthur exchanged smiles as the bantering continued. Their last and final child had come home and she was already fitting in better than they had ever imagined.


	15. The Wicked Witch

THE WICKED WITCH  
  
Notes: This chapter is probably going to seem a bit garbled, but - alas - I've changed my mind about things that happened in earlier chapters and I need to fiddle with them here, so you'll have to bear with me. Also, it WAS going to be chapter 16, but I couldn't finish 15 yet and I was dying to post this…  
  
  
  
"So was this a case of self-transfiguration?"  
  
Dumbledore nodded, regarding the rat sitting on the workbench between them. Back at the School early, Professors McGonogall, Sprout and Snape had come to aid him in an attempt to help Willow's childhood friend.  
  
"Apparently, she and the Slayer were about to be burned at the stake by a demon-controlled rabble of muggles and she escaped by transfiguring herself into this form. However, none of her friends were advanced enough to transfigure her back."  
  
McGonogall bent to regard the rat curiously. "I suppose we could attempt to transfigure her into human form," She suggested, raising her eyes to the Headmaster. "Although you know the risks that are carried by that."  
  
"What about using mandrakes?" The eldest professor present asked quietly, looking up at Sprout and Snape. "Would they work on self-transfigurations that have been in place as long as this one?"  
  
Sprout scratched her uncontrolled, flyaway mass of dirt-tangled hair, wrinkling her brow in thought. "They probably would work, but it would have to be a very mature mandrake because of how long she has been like this."  
  
"How long has she been in this form?" Snape asked.  
  
Dumbledore replied. "Over a year. Willow, that is Sarah Weasley, has attempted to turn her back previously, but she was simply not advanced enough."  
  
"If there is an available mandrake that is mature enough," The Potions Master glanced at the Herbology Mistress, who nodded once. "The sooner we can have the potion ready, the better it will be for her."  
  
Sprout frowned. "You know, the little sod isn't going to be amused if I dig him up now." She remarked dryly. "He thought he was going to get away with being left for four years in the corner of the potting shed."  
  
"You can control him?"  
  
Professor Sprout snorted, straightening her mud-stained robes as if she had been offended by the Transfiguration Mistress. "Minerva, there is no plant in the potting sheds that I can't handle." There was a pause. "Although, I'm not sure how I'm going to get him to let go of his zimmer frame..."  
  
"An old-aged mandrake with a zimmer frame..." McGonogall almost smiled at the image that conjured up. "Somehow, that shouldn't surprise me."  
  
Sprout scowled. "If he had the chance, he would chase younger mandrakes off his lawn." She sighed heavily. "He is getting rather out of hand, I'll admit. Maybe picking him will teach him to behave better."  
  
"Rather you than I, my dear." Dumbledore chuckled softly. "When will you be able to do so?"  
  
"Give me half an hour to get warmed up and I should have him by tomorrow morning."  
  
"Severus, how long will it take you to make the potion?"  
  
The Potions Master rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It would take a day at most, unless we simmer it for longer for more mature potency." He cast a glance at Sprout. "Considering the age of the mandrake in question, it may be wiser to simmer it for a full twenty four hours."  
  
"So a pair or trio of days, depending on how long it takes to tame this wild mandrake?" There was an unmistakeable twinkle in the Headmaster's blue eyes. "I'm sure that a few more hours won't make much difference to our rodent companion."  
  
Snape and Sprout nodded, both turning and hurrying out of Dumbledore's round office at the top of the tower, leaving the Headmaster and Professor McGonogall regarding the large rat sitting on the desktop.  
  
"Would she have had the potential to be one of ours, Albus?"  
  
Blue eyes looked at her over gleaming, half-moon spectacles. "There is always a possibility of that, Minerva." He replied quietly. "Willow told me that Amy, this rather fetching rat, had a witch for a mother."  
  
"Did she mention what her surname was?" Taking the seat across the desk, McGonogall watched as Dumbledore gently lifted the rat back into the large cage that was positioned on the floor beside his seat.  
  
His silver beard rippling as he nodded, Dumbledore replied. "Madison, if I recall correctly."  
  
McGonogall's brow wrinkled in thought. "I don't recall that we ever had any Madisons attending the school..." She remarked thoughtfully. "And you did say that Willow's adopted mother was called Sheila?"  
  
"That's correct."  
  
"Well, what if she was young Sheila? The sister?"  
  
Dumbledore nodded. "I had thought about that possibility, but Willow claimed her 'mother' knew nothing of magic."  
  
The Transfiguration Professor snorted. "And Sheila did?"  
  
"She knew...certain things."  
  
"Dark magic, Albus. It's not the same."  
  
"I am aware of that, Minerva," He replied patiently. "But I am certain that Sheila Rosenberg was merely an innocent person who was unfortunately dragged into the plan for the concealment of Willow from us and the ministry."  
  
"Yes, Albus..." McGonogall got to her feet. "I suppose I should return to my offices now. I have some work I must get done, before we see who young Amy really is."  
  
"Good night, Minerva."  
  
"Good night, Albus."  
  
***  
  
"One drop should suffice."  
  
"How long will it take to work?"  
  
Snape pursed his lips in thought. "Give it five minutes at the most. If we're lucky, it should work instantaneously."  
  
Dumbledore nodded, bending and lifting the rat from the cage. They had transferred her to the medical wing for the dosing of the potion and, if it worked, for her comfort when she turned back into a human.  
  
"When you are ready, Severus."  
  
With a dropper, the Potions Master collected some of the potion and turned his attention to the rat that was held - strangely placid - in the Headmaster's hands.  
  
Deftly, he managed to capture the small head gently between forefinger and thumb and squeezed the dropper into the rodent's mouth. "I would suggest you put her down before she changes back, Headmaster."  
  
Before Dumbledore could move to do so, though, the rodent leapt from his hands and towards the bed. The rat landed on the bed beside them, bounced slightly, then started to writhe and squeak.  
  
"It's working." Snape breathed.  
  
A glow flared out around the rat's form and both men quickly shielded their eyes with their forearms. Only when a shaking voice spoke, did they lower their arms.  
  
"Wh-what happened?"  
  
Sitting on the bed, her knees pulled up against her chest, her hair matted and tangled around her face, a young woman - probably about nineteen years of age - was staring around the room around her, shivering.  
  
Dumbledore moved first, draping a blanket around the naked girl, to shield her modesty, before giving her a reassuring smile. "You've been a rat for almost a year and a half, Miss Madison. Your friend, Willow, asked us to help."  
  
Brown eyes stared up at him suspiciously, full of fear. "Who are you?" She demanded unsteadily, her hands gripping the edges of her blanket tight around her body. "Where's Willow? Where am I?"  
  
"You're at a Wizarding School in England, Miss Madison. I'm Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster." Dumbledore sat down on the end of the bed. "You will be able to see Willow as soon as you've recovered. You have just been through a frightful ordeal."  
  
The girl nodded uncertainly. "Wh-why did you help me?"  
  
"Because we could, my dear." Patting one of her hands gently, Dumbledore got to his feet and smiled down at her. "I'll leave you in the capable hands of Madam Pomfrey. She'll get you back on your feet, won't you, Poppy?"  
  
In response, the school matron promptly bustled both of the teachers out of the Medical Wing and closed the door behind them with a firm 'click'.  
  
Professor Dumbledore turned to Snape. "You've been strangely quiet in spite of the success of your potion, Severus."  
  
"You didn't recognise her, did you?"  
  
"Miss Madison?" Snape nodded grimly. "Should I have?"  
  
The Potions Master's expression was strained. "You do remember the Wizard who stole the youngest Weasley from her crib?" Dumbledore nodded, uncertain where Snape was leading. "And you recall his sister?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Do you remember the sister's face?"  
  
Dumbledore's eyes widened. "Surely not..."  
  
"She's the double of her, Headmaster." Pacing back and forth across the hall, Snape swung around to face the Headmaster, his face drawn. "If I'm to make an assumption, I would say that she is Sheila Pettigrew's daughter."  
  
"Strange as it does seem, it would certainly explain why she had such an affinity for rats, when performing transfiguration on others and herself. It seems it was a family trade-mark." He fingered his beard, pensively. "And the name Madison..."  
  
"Could be a pseudonym." Snape finished. "They were both darksiders, Headmaster, so a little name-changing would hardly be considered a serious crime compared to some of the other things they did."  
  
Dumbledore motioned for Snape to walk with him, both of them making their way through the darkened corridors of the building. They walked in silence to the gargoyle that led to the Headmaster's office.  
  
"Humbug."  
  
The gargoyle swung aside and the two teachers stepped onto the moving staircase.  
  
By the time they entered the office, candles were burning and a fire was crackling in the chilly hearth, the house elves having raced up as soon as they had spotted Professor Dumbledore on his way.  
  
"Headmaster..." Snape began falteringly. Rounding his large desk to sit down, Dumbledore nodded, gesturing for Snape to sit as well. "If Pettigrew's niece has been found, what happened to her mother? Is she still at large?"  
  
Dumbledore couldn't help chuckling. "Well, I would say she is more...er...at small."  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"Apparently, Sheila - or Catherine as she was known - attended normal, American High Schools after her expulsion from this school for using the dark arts." The Headmaster explained. Willow had told him of all her witching encounters, including those with 'Mrs Madison'. "She became fairly famous as a cheerleader."  
  
"A what?"  
  
"The Americans seem to like to have professional cheer-leading girls to support their sports teams. Even in high schools, they encourage young women to don skimpy costumes and dance in strange routines which apparently...er...spur their team to victory."  
  
Snape couldn't muffle a snigger. "What on earth will they think of next? And Pettigrew was one of these...cheerers?"  
  
"A very good one, judging by the awards she won. Alas, she wanted Amy to follow in her footsteps and when she proved incapable, Pettigrew resorted to the dark arts again and stole her daughter's body."  
  
"I'm not surprised at that. She always was a rather selfish child."  
  
"She did succeed, but she attempted to literally wipe out the competition. Fortunately for everyone, one of them was the Slayer and - with help - they defeated Sheila somehow and she was somehow transfigured into one of her trophies."  
  
Snape raised a brow. "As you can see, I am distraught."  
  
"Obviously." Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling. "Something tells me that it is an odd kind of poetic justice."  
  
"So we're not about to run to the poor witch's rescue?"  
  
Dumbledore exaggerated a heavy sigh. "But Severus, I just got back and I am frightfully tired…"  
  
The Potions Master chuckled. "So that would be a no."  
  
*** 


	16. An Interlude

AN INTERLUDE  
Notes - since I don't have access to my disks (why can't my grandfather have a nice, normal PC, like any regular person??), I'm writing this chapter, as a kind of fill in and because I want to write a thank-you-something for m'dear Blaire. Also, this chapter looks at whats going on back n Sunnyhell, cos we don't know what they're up to ATM.   
And, on a side note to people who comment on the latest buffy-show-happenings in the reviews - could you please not do that? Its just that I haven't seen the latest season yet, being stuck in Britain and being with it for at least another six months due to lack of Sky/Cable/Satellite)  
  
  
"H-How was slaying?"  
Dropping onto the couch and swinging her feet up on the table, Buffy shrugged. "Slay-ey."  
"How very literal."  
The Slayer grinned at him, stretching her arms over her head with a satisfied groan. "You know me. Took out a couple of vamps on campus and a few in the old cemetery." She looked up at her former Watcher curiously. "So, what's the what? Why'd you call a meeting of the Scoobies?"  
"A letter arrived from Willow this morning." He replied. "I thought you all might want to hear the news about how she's getting on." Buffy opened her mouth to say something, but Giles raised a hand. "And I'm not going to open it until everyone is here."  
"You're no fun." The Slayer grumbled.  
The former Wizard chuckled. "I try."  
It was barely five minutes later when the door opened again, permitting Xander and Anya to enter the house. As usual, they were bickering about something, which had become a frequent feature of their relationship since their return from London.  
Since, Anya had discovered she was a billionaire by Wizarding standards, she had decided that Xander would have to be one too and would have to put a few coins into a savings account, then get himself turned into a demon for a thousand years. Needless to say, he was not to thrilled about the whole idea.  
"Honey, I don't want to be a billionaire. I'm happy as I am." he paused. "well, maybe not happy, but comfortable. I'm comfortable."  
"You live in a basement and you work for Dairy Queen!"  
Her boyfriend sighed. "That's because I can't get any other job and since I can't get any other job, I can't move out of the basement."  
"so become a billionaire like me! Its nice having lots of money for clothes."  
"Anya, I don't want to be a billionaire. I just want to be comfortable."  
"But I can't date someone who has less money than have, Xander!" The former demon exclaimed miserably. "Its like a Queen dating a slave. And a muggle slave at that!" She gave him a plaintive look. "Can't you become a demon billionaire for me? I thought you loved me, Xander."  
"Can we not have this argument now, sweetie?"  
"Can we have it later?"  
Xander reluctantly nodded. "I guess so."  
"Okay!" Anya cheered up considerably and looped her arm through his. "Hi Giles!"  
"Good afternoon, Anya...Xander."  
"Will this take long? We have an argument to finish."  
"It shouldn't take too long, Anya. Willow's owl arrived this morning with a letter from her."  
"Her owl! I bought that owl!" She squeezed Xander's arm. "See, if you had billions of dollars, you could buy her an owl as well, instead of the presents that no one likes!"  
"But she wouldn't need two owls, would she, Anya?" Buffy put in hurriedly, seeing the embarrassed expression on Xander's face. "C'mon! Sit down! I want to see what she's been doing and what her crazy family are like! Giles," She gave an impreious wave of her hand. "Make with the reading"  
"Is that any way to speak to you elder?" The Englishman made a parody of being shocked.  
"All right, all right." Buffy laughed. "Make with the reading...now!"  
Shaking his head, Giles chuckled as he opened the letter. "You're incorrigible."  
  
***  
  
Hi guys!  
I thought I should write to you, to let you know whats going on and that I'm okay and everything. I got home to The Burrow (it feels weird writing that now) a few days ago and I'm having a great time here, even though my family are crazier than I thought they would be!  
They built a room for me and stuck it on the roof of the house. From the outside, it looks like its standing on top of one of the chimneys, which looks really weird, but inside (You have to crawl along the roof to get to it, which is really neat. Weird, but neat) it looks just like my room back home in Sunnydale. You have to come and see it some time!  
HI! Its me! Ginny!  
Dad just called Willow down to ask her about more muggle stuff, so I thought I'd write something, since she left her quill ltying around (which is a really stupid thing to do in this house!). Willow thinks we're all crazy here and I s'pose she's right! Mind you, she's the only person in the family who has actually made friends with the ghoul in the attic, so maybe she fits in more than she realised...  
Uh oh! She's coming back! Bye!  
You know what I really don't like about this? Everyone else in the family could delete something that someone else had written with their wand, but I don't have a wand and no one else will show me how to do the spell to erase what Ginny wrote, so it looks like I'll have to leave it in for now.  
Anyway, I wanted to tell you all about everything thats going on here. Everyone has come to stay at home and Fred and George keep trying to play tricks on me. Don't tell them I wrote this, but they're really funny. Ron is kind of funny as well, but in a non-jokey way and he's really nice. He reminds me a lot of Xander (if you're there, hi, Xander!).  
Charlie is hardly ever here, cos they just had a new shipment of baby dragons and he can't leave them yet. He also says he won't get one for me (I asked if I could have one, when they're old enough)because they don't make good pets and because he thinks mom would be mad if it burned the house down.  
Percy stopped visiting after George gave me a fake wand and it shot out sparks as soon as I touched it and set Percy's suit on fire. I don't know why he didn't want to see me again, after that. I told him it was an accident, but George said I could only set the wand off if I wanted to 'set Percy's arse alight'. I didn't! Not really.  
Bill is really nice and his wife...she's okay. She's kind of like Cordelia, except she's got lighter hair and a French accent (a French Cordelia...that's scary!). I haven't met Fred and George's girlfriends yet, but mom says they're coming for dinner one night, when members of my family that I don't know stop visiting.   
I've got about fifty uncles and aunts from all over England and its really crazy here now, cos every day, one or two of them falls out of the fireplace when we're having breakfast and asks to see me! I thought only my grandma did the cheek-pinching thing, but I was wrong! Mom thinks its really funny, especially since she hasn't seen half of them for years and they just arrive.   
Apparently, Rita Skeeter did find out about the 'missing Weasley' and I was featured in the Daily Prophet and only in the nicest of terms. I think Rita is scared I'll set you on her, Buffy! it turns out that I'm almost as famous as Harry is, so I'll probably have books written about me in a few years. How cool is that? I'm nearly famous!  
i have to finish this now! Merlin (my owl - thanks Anya!) is getting impatient again because he knows I'm writing a letter for him to take and when he's bored waiting, he rattles his beak along the cage. I had to send letters to mom in the kitchen, just so I could let him do something and shut him up!  
I miss you all! Write back to me soon!  
Lots of love,   
Willow.  
  
***  
  
"She sounds like she's doing okay." Buffy commented, accepting the letter to re-read it. "Do we have an owl to write back to her with?"  
Giles motioned towards the roof with his glasses clutched between forefinger and thumb. "M-Merlin is up there somewhere. If we write quickly, we may escaped without the cage rattling." An indignant hoot sounded high above them. "Same to you, you little bastard." The former librarian muttered with grimace.  
The three youths couldn't help laughing.  



	17. Reunion

REUNION

Notes: This is just a random chapter, leading up to the...er...interesting occasion I have planned for poor, naive Willow. Needless to say the next chapter will definitely be a more Potter-fandom-centric chapter. 

Methinks I need to have something involved from their world, as opposed to just the Weasleys...and all the stuff the happened in Diagon Alley...Dumbledore's regular appearances and well…everything else vaguely magic...uh. I'll stop now.

I added some background information and circumstances on the kidnapping, cos I was in ramble mode, so you'll probably get bored fairly early on, so feel free to skim read. I'm warning you now!

Also, I know something happens with Evil-Amy in Series Six of Buffy, but I haven't seen it, so - like series four and five - I'm taking the character off on my own tangent :) Please don't eat me alive! I'm too chewy to be enjoyable!

____________________________________

"What was that?" Willow yelped in surprise when something that looked strangely like a dirty potato with legs and horny little feet ran between her feet and darted into the long grass with a shrill giggle.

"Just a gnome." Ginny explained, spreading a tablecloth across two large tables that seemed to have appeared out of no where.

"Just a gnome?"

Her sister nodded, grinning. "Dad thinks they're funny."

"But...gnomes? I didn't think they were real. I mean, I know they were in the books and all, but I thought...well, she did make stuff up, didn't she?"

Harry looked across the table, where he was laying out cutlery. "I didn't think they were either, until I got here." He admitted with a smile. "It was weird coming here for the first time, after living with dull muggles for so long."

"It was weird for you, when you had been at Hogwarts for a year?" Willow pointed up at the house that was her family home. Odd rectangular boxes stuck off the roof, even standing on the narrow chimneys to provide extra rooms. "Look at my room and tell me that's normal!" 

Both the Potters turned and looked up at the box-shape that had been identified as Willow's room. 

Two wonky wooden beams held up the floor, both of sticking out from the slanted roof of the kitchen at very odd angles. A chimney poked through the bottom, right-hand corner, small puffs of pale pink smoke curling out cheerfully. 

The doors that would have opened out onto her balcony at her home in Sunnydale opened out onto a long pole that descended from the top of the house, as a means of a quick exit, if she wanted to get down to the garden in a hurry.

It had been with no small measure of surprise that she had watched her twin slide UP the pole, to pop into her room one morning and see how she was getting on.

"Looks fine to me, Will." Harry straightened up, wiping his forehead with his muscled forearm, then shrugged at his sister-in-law, his green eyes twinkling behind his unruly, dark fringe and glasses. "Dunno what you're complaining about."

Willow pulled a face at him, joining them both at the tables to put down the pile of plates that she was carrying.

She had been at the Burrow for almost three weeks, since she and her parents had departed from Diagon Alley. 

Random family members from all over the world kept popping up from everywhere and nowhere to meet the 'missing Weasley' and she was constantly discovering new and strange things as she wandered around the house. 

The ghoul that lived in the attic seemed to take a liking to her and - at her request - went and rattled his chains, mournfully wailing, in the attic space above Fred and George's room in the middle of the night.

The mirror over the mantlepiece, though, had taken great pleasure in picking on her, mimicking her mother's voice and telling her to brush her hair, tuck her shirt in and clean her teeth whenever she had walked past it, then laughing when she rushed off to do so.

Molly had threatened to take it down three days later, when Willow was on the verge of yelling back at it and, since then, there had been no problems, apart from when it blew wet raspberries at Willow when she entered the living room.

Tonight, though, was classed as a special night, because, not only was all of the family going to be there, but they were bringing friends with them. Willow had been desperate to meet most of those friends who were attending, having heard all about the whole story of what was - no doubt - going to show up in the Rowlings books, in time to come.

The tables that normally seated the whole family with room to spare had been expanded to fit at least half a dozen others.

If she remembered right, Fred and George were bringing their respective girlfriends, both from their Quidditch team during their time at Hogwarts. Bill's wife had just returned from a Ministry conference in France and would apparently be joining them later.

That took care of three of the guests.

Willow's eyes scanned around the table, settling at the spot that had been laid in front of the most elaborate chair. A small smile came to her lips and she knew who would be sitting there by the time dinner came.

Dumbledore.

He had visited regularly to check that she was keeping well and wasn't getting too home sick, as well as bringing the news that soon, work would soon begin in earnest to try and return Amy from her rat form to human form.

Who did that leave though?

The youngest Weasley mentally frowned, trying to remember people who had played significant parts in the battle against Voldemort, then laughed. Of course, that would mean Hermione Granger would be on her way.

Despite her brothers' - with the exception of Percy, of course - comments about the Professor of Muggle Studies, Willow was desperately keen to meet the young woman who had reminded her so much of her younger self, when she had read the books.

It would be nice to have someone around who thought along the same lines as she did, instead of just dealing with six Quidditch- or dragon- or prank- or work-obsessed brothers and a Harry-obsessed sister.

Not that they were all bad, but it would be nice, she knew.

And who else?

"Ginny, who else did mom say was coming tonight?"

"There's Angelina, Alicia, Fleur, Dumbledore, Hermione, Sirius Black and Professor Lupin." Her twin replied, trying to fend off the enchanted flower that her husband was making chase her around the garden.

Ah! Those were the two she had forgotten: Lupin and Black.

A werewolf and a once-alleged-psychopath currently-proved-innocent.

No, it wasn't going to be an interesting meal at ALL!

***

"Good evening, Miss Weasley."

"Hi, Professor Dumbledore!" Getting up from the kitchen table, where she had been studying The Daily Prophet, Willow hurried towards the headmaster of Hogwarts, one hand extended towards the teacher, who shook it fondly. "How are you?"

"Better than I could be, but no worse than I have been." He smiled. "And how are you finding life with your madcap family?"

"Its great here!"

"And once again, I am convinced that the family tradition of lunacy has already affected your defenceless mind." The Professor chuckled. He motioned towards the fireplace, which had just flared to life. "If you don't mind, I brought a guest."

"A guest?" Willow gave him a disapproving look, her eyes dancing. "You know how annoyed mom'll be that you didn't tell her, so she could get more food ready…"

"I'm sure she'll cope." They both watched as a female figure fell out of the fire and landed in a heap of ash on the floor, sneezing vigorously. "Ah, Miss Madison, it is a relief to see that you made it intact…"

"Whoa…I don't think I like travelling that way…"

"Miss Madison?" Willow looked at the girl on the floor. "Oh my God…Amy?" 

"Willow?" Unsteadily getting to her feet, Amy brushed dust off her clothes. She found her red-haired friend starting towards her and in a heartbeat, they had caught each other in a tight hug, both laughing. "Look at you!"

"And you! You're not a rat anymore!"

"And you're not clean anymore!" Amy grinned wickedly.

Willow looked down at her dust-smudged clothing, pulling a face. "Mom is on her way, so in about five seconds…"

There was an audible PING!

"What happened?" Amy stared down at her clean clothes.

"We couldn't leave you so dirty, when you're here for dinner, could we?" Molly Weasley bustled into the kitchen, her wand drawn in her right hand. "I really wouldn't want you to get ash all over the furniture."

"That's my mom, always thinking of her furniture." Willow said fondly.

"Now, now, Willow…"

"Uh hold on…your mom?"

"You mean Professor Dumbledore didn't tell you?" The youngest Weasley swung to look at the old wizard in confusion. "Why didn't you tell her, Professor?"

Having taken a seat at the kitchen table, Dumbledore smile thinly, motioning for the two girls to join him. "This was something I thought it would be…better to discuss in a face to face manner, as it relates to both of your families…"

"What do you mean, Professor?" Molly was the first to voice the question.

"My dear, you may wish to sit down." Blue eyes looked at the three faces. "In fact, you all may want to sit down. This is going to take some explaining, I think." Folding his hands on the table, he waited until they were seated and started to explain.

As his tale came to a close, he looked from one face to another.

Molly Weasley was staring at her hands, which were resting in her lap, her usually rosy face pale and tears in her eyes. Clearly the memory of her daughter's abduction so many years before was still painfully close to her heart.

"You mean my mom was the one who stole Willow from her real family?" Amy seemed unable to look at her friend, shaking her head. "I-I didn't know..."

Reaching out and taking the stunned girl's hand gently in one of his age-spotted ones, Dumbledore said. "Be comforted, Amy. No one knew how deep your mother and uncle's treachery ran."

"But I should have...I knew how bad she was...she always laughed when she saw Willow passing in the street or the store. I thought it was because of what she was wearing," She gave Willow an apologetic look. Willow looked down at her much-improved wardrobe, waving her friend's slight slur off. "But now...it was probably because she thought she got away with doing this to you." Reluctantly raising her eyes, Amy met Willow's. "I'm sorry, Willow."

"It's okay, Amy, really!"

"But my mom and uncle stole you from your family! Your parents could have been these people, but you had the Rosenbergs..."

Standing, Willow rounded the table and wrapped her arms around Amy. "Amy, if I didn't get taken, I wouldn't be as strong as I am today." She said seriously. "I wouldn't know the people who are my best friends. I would have had a great family, but I would have missed out on some of the best friends anyone can have."

"You...you really don't mind?" Eyes shining with tears that were threatening to fall, Amy stared at her.

"You didn't do anything, Amy! Why would I mind?" Amy struggled to find some argument, but gave up as she met Willow's eyes again. Muffling a sob, she sank against her friend's shoulder, crying quietly. Her own eyes closed, Willow rocked the other witch comfortingly, whispering reassuringly to her, her own silent tears splashing down her face.

On the other side of the table, Molly Weasley unobtrusively lifted a small, lacy handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes, hoping that her daughter would not notice her mother's tears. 

She could remember all too clearly the morning - nearly nineteen years before - that she had walked into her and her husband's bedroom, where her two-month old twin daughters also shared a cradle.

She had left them sleeping in one another's arms, while she tidied up the house before her brood emerged from their beds and she heard a thud, when she was dusting the living room downstairs. 

Assuming one of her beautiful babies had dropped - or thrown - their teddy out of the crib to make their woken status known, she had amiably made her way upstairs, opening the bedroom door to find blankets strewn across the floor.

At first, it seemed that they had been a little more boisterous than she thought, but then she heard Ginny's plaintive wail and hurried into the room, stopping short in horror. 

The cradle was on its side on the floor, Ginny buried in the pile of blankets. 

Molly liberated her immediately and started searching for her sister, but the blankets had parted to reveal nothing.

"Sara?" She remembered calling, as if the baby would be able to answer. "Sara?" With every repetition of her daughter's name, her voice had grown more panicked, her shaking hands digging through the blankets scattered around the room. "SARA!?" 

Ginny, by that point, was screaming against her mother's shoulder, as if she knew what was wrong.

"What's wong, mummy?" Fred had asked, toddling through the door, his miniature broomstick clutched in one hand, his twin's hand in the other.

"Fred, have you seen Sara?" The boy had looked at his brother for confirmation, then they both shook their heads in unison. "What about Bill? Or Charlie? Or Percy? Do they have her?"

"Dey's sleepin', mummy." George had answered around his thumb, forcing his mother to acknowledge what she had instinctively known the moment she had found the cradle overturned.

Her youngest baby child was gone.

Tears poured down her face uncontrollably in that instant and she had scrambled to her feet, holding Ginny to her as if she were afraid that she would disappear too. 

She had managed somehow to stumble down the staircase to the kitchen, tossing a handful of dust in the fire as she wept. Her heart seemed to be tearing through her veins and she swayed on her feet as her husband answered the fire.

"Molly?" He had immediately known something was wrong.

In a heartbeat he had appeared through the fire and she hadn't been able to bear it a moment longer, her legs going out from beneath her.

"Sara." She sobbed. "She's gone, Arthur. She's gone!"

Time had blurred. 

One moment, Arthur had run towards the stairs, no doubt to survey the bedroom and the next moment, Molly had found herself seated in the living room, a comforting blanket around her and her daughter, Ginny hugged tightly to her, almost ignorant of the Ministry Wizards swarming all over the house. 

Despite the absence of her youngest daughter, her other children seemed to be doing their best to comfort her. Ron was cuddled to her other side, staring around wide-eyed, the three-year-old twins sitting at her feet, hugging each other. Four-year-old Percy was seated on the footstool next to the twins, hugging his battered teddy, blinking owlishly out from behind his glasses. Eight and nine-year-old Charlie and Bill surveyed the scene solemnly, each of them sitting beside her with an arm around their mother. 

She could remember the warmth of her children's small bodies around her and time seemed meaningless, until...

"I am frightfully sorry, Arthur. We had no idea that he would come after you and your family..." Cornelius Fudge, assistant to the Minister of Magic, was speaking quietly, as he had re-entered the living-room with her husband. Molly could not recall a day when her husband looked more hopeless. She had started to stand, but Arthur had shaken his head.

"She's gone, Molly."

"B-but how?"

A shaking white hand had held out a square of black material and Molly had felt the breath rush from her lungs, fresh tears welling in her eyes as the glittering green sparkles on the fabric had come into view as the cloth unfurled. 

It was the painfully familiar skull with a snake protruding from it's mouth.

The Dark Mark in a deceptively gentle-looking form.

"No..." She remembered gasping, a heartbeat before everything had gone black.

She had returned to consciousness on her bed, the faces of her seven children staring at her with concern, her husband sitting on the blankets beside her. His face looked hollow, eyes full of grief.

Carefully, quietly, he had explained what he had been told and together, they had wept with their children, before forcing themselves to go through the torment of manipulating the memories of their children to make them forget the pain of losing their youngest sister, who was probably never going to be seen again.

After all, nobody survived the Dark Lord.

That is, until two weeks late, when a young couple were murdered and somehow, by some immense miracle, their son - the same age as the Weasley's youngest son - had survived with only a cut to show for Lord Voldemort's attack.

That had caused Molly to break down once again.

Not only had her youngest daughter been snatched by his allies, but if it had only happened two weeks earlier, only two weeks, fourteen miserable days, her little girl would never have been taken in the first place.

No one ever knew why their unobtrusive not-so-little family had been targeted, but it had been suggested that their ambivalent view of muggles had led them to be viewed as enemies of the Dark Lord.

Turning her attention back to her daughter, Molly sniffed as quietly as she could and stood up. "I-I should get the dinner on." She said, turning away from her daughter and the daughter of the Witch who had helped to break their family apart.

"Mom, are you all right?" A slim hand touched Molly's shoulder and the plump witch reluctantly turned to gaze at her daughter. "Oh, mom..." Hugging her mother, Willow could sense the pain that the revelation had brought her mother. "Its okay, mom. I'm back now. No one can take me away from you again."

"I-I just..." Molly couldn't find the words to express what she was feeling, returning her daughter's embrace. "What...what if they find you...?"

This time, Dumbledore's chuckle warmed both witches. "I'm delighted to say that would be a physical impossibility, dear Molly." His ruby and emerald robes rustled as he got to his feet. "After all, Pettigrew redeemed himself, by giving his life for your son-in-law and his sister is...or at least was, a trophy of some variety." Those words seemed to comfort the witch, who nodded, mopping her face on her handkerchief.

"And I was a rat for a year because my magic sucks and I couldn't work out how to turn myself back." Amy put in hesitantly.

Molly made a sound somewhere between a tearful hiccup and a laugh. "Oh, dear, you don't need to say things like that." She chastised Amy gently, sounding almost like her old self. "I'm sure you would be good at magic if you were taught properly."

"No, mom, she's right." Willow grinned. "She sucks."

Amy pulled a face. "Thanks for the back up, Rosenberg."

"Anytime, Amy." Chuckling, Willow offered her friend an arm. "Any time." She nodded towards the door of the kitchen, which led into the garden. "Want to come and meet my brothers and sister?"

"You have brothers?"

"Uh-huh." Willow laughed, as they made their way towards the door. "All older and kinda cute in a brotherly way..."

"Are any of them single?"

"Yeah, but Amy, I have to ask you...do you like red hair?"

"Uh...why?"

Willow's voice floated back to Dumbledore and her mother. "Oh, no reason."


	18. The Party

THE DINNER PARTY

Notes - This is the chapter where we all get to see if I can actually write in pure HP-verse *twitches nervously* First and foremost, I apologise for anything that seems wrong at all, cos there is bound to be something. I'll go and hide in a corner until I find a muse that works, if everyone hates this.

Also, I've put together a Harry potter crossover list, if anyone is interested in joining - its muy quiet at the moment, but it'll be where all future HP crossovers are aired in my case: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/hpcrossover 

________________________________

"They're here!"

"Ginny! Get off Harry!"

"Sod off, you git!"

"Language, little sis!" Ron winked at Willow, who was giggling behind her hand as Molly immediately sprayed soap from her wand into Ginny - and the unfortunate Harry's mouths.

Spluttering foam and bubbles, Harry raced for the kitchen to the sink. Ginny reached for her own wand and rinsed her mouth out, hiccupping a few more bubbles out as a group of laughing people appeared out of the kitchen and into the garden.

Willow, sitting nervously at the table already, looked at Ron, who gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and stood up, hurrying towards the expanding group. Many hugs were exchanged, a great deal of laughing and back-slapping going on.

None of the group looked especially like wizards, which Willow assumed Dumbledore had something to do with. They were wearing clothes that wouldn't have looked out of place on her friends, which made her feel a little more comfortable.

"Hey! Will, c'mon! Don't be shy!" Beckoning his youngest sister over, Bill smiled as she nervously stood up and approached. Throwing an arm around her shoulder, he gestured around the group. "Will, meet everyone, everyone, this is Willow."

Ducking her head, Willow waggled her fingers timidly. "Uh...hi..."

"Are you sure she's related to you?" A striking black woman asked, nudging Fred in the ribs. "She seems a bit too quiet and...er...normal to be a Weasley."

"Yep! Pure Weasley, this one!" Fred said proudly. "Will, this is Angelina, Angelina, this is my super-powerful little sister." His girlfriend gave him a skeptical look. "Hey, don't blame me if she runs around closing Hellmouths."

The chatter that had been going on around them dried up instantly, all eyes turning to the scarlet Willow, who shuffled her feet awkwardly. "It wasn't that hard." She muttered, embarrassed. 

"And she's modest too." George reached over and ruffled Willow's hair.

"Although she's a crap cook, which kind of buggers the fact that she's saved the World a few times." Ron added, immediately ducking a half-hearted slap from his youngest sister.

"Willow!" A voice called from inside the house a moment before a dark-haired witch flew out from the kitchen, stopping short at the sight of the group of witches and wizards. "Uh, I was gonna say that some wizards just...uh...never mind..."

Ron spun around with an enthusiastic whoop. "Amy!"

"Oh God! You're gonna pick me up again!" Amy backed away as Ron stalked towards her, grinning. Since her arrival, Ron had decided it would be fun to pester the freshly deratted witch, and she had barely been left alone for five minutes.

"Well, I wasn't, but good idea!" Hoisting the screaming witch off her feet, Ron ran back into the house, leaving Willow at the mercy of her other brothers and sister, as well as the guests, who she was still waiting to be introduced to.

"Um...Bill? Who is everyone?"

Bill looked around at the group. "Fleur, you know." The semi-Veela smiled. "These two," He motioned to the women who flanked Fred and George. "Are Angelina and Alicia. Absolutely killer Quidditch Players. They play in the Witches' League." Both women grinned broadly at the commendation. "This," He gestured to an older man with greying hair and a tired smile. "Is..."

"Professor Lupin?" Willow hazarded a guess.

He extended a thin hand, which she shook. "I'm assuming that you've been reading those Rowling books?" He said, his voice quiet. She met his pale eyes and she found herself mesmerised for a moment.

"I...uh...it isn't just that...uh...Sir." She finally answered. "You...you remind me of my boyfriend." He looked slightly surprised, but - as Oz would - didn't comment. "I mean, he's a werewolf too. I can...see something in your eyes...your face...something like he has in his eyes and face...and you're quiet...like him...which makes me wonder if it's quiet people who turn into werewolves...or maybe just quiet men, cos Verruca was a skanky slut-ho of a werewolf and she..."Willow trailed off at the amused looks on the faces of the group around her. "Uh, I'm babbling, huh?"

Lupin gave her a quiet smile that made her ache for Oz. "I don't mind." He said. "To have someone who recognises what I am and doesn't run screaming..." He shrugged, barely a lift of his shoulders. "It's nice."

"Oh...good." She smiled at him, the nervousness starting to fade as he gently gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Don't I get introduced?" The tall man beside Lupin interrupted. Willow turned, meeting clear pale blue eyes and recoiling with a gasp at the torment that filled the bright orbs. 

"Oh God!" She stared at him pityingly. "I-I knew it was bad, but I didn't realise that it was that bad..." Shaking her head, she reached up to touch his cheek, making him start in surprise. "You can't forget it, can you?"

"Um...pardon?"

"Willow, I don't know how things are done in America," Bill gently lifted her hand from Sirius' face. "But here, you don't pet a strange man's face the first time you meet him."

"But his eyes..." Willow trailed off, blushing furiously, ducking her head again. "It just reminded me of someone..."

"Another werewolf?" Sirius asked. He sounded genuinely curious and slightly confused by what had just happened.

Willow's green eyes rose and stared at him. He looked vaguely as she had imagined him, only his black hair was short and neat, his face young-looking for a man about to reach his forties. 

Like everyone in the group - with the exception of her parents and Dumbledore - he was wearing casual muggle-wear, in his case a pair of dark blue jeans and a gold and red Quidditch shirt.

"You reminded me of Angel." She said quietly.

George burst out laughing. "Will, are you hitting on our famous Mr. Black? I mean, calling him an Angel...isn't that a bit much?"

"George, shut it." Bill warned his brother, seeing the embarrassed look on Willow's face. "I don't think she meant an angel." Willow nodded.

"If you don't mind me asking, who is this...angel?" 

"He..." She looked to Bill for confirmation. "He's a vampire..." Sirius uttered a word that would have earned him a mouthful of soap from Mrs Weasley had she been his mother. "A vampire with a soul!" Willow hastily added. 

Sirius' eyes narrowed. "I remind you of a vampire with a soul?"

"After he came back from Hell." Willow confirmed uncomfortably, Sirius' pale blue eyes staring at her intensely. The man's expression cleared and he lowered his head briefly with a nod.

"Azkhaban..." Fred murmured.

Willow uttered a squeak of embarrassment. "And I just reminded you of it! Oh God! I'm sorry! I shouldn't have said anything!" Flapping her hands, she tried to think of something to say. "Uh...do you like cookies? I could make cookies if it would make you not think of it..."

Much to her astonishment, Sirius started to laugh. She looked to Lupin, to see if she had done something wrong. His eyes, too, were crinkled with laughter. Bemused she looked at her brothers, who were smiling.

"Uh...what did I say? Did I say something funny?"

Lupin looked at his long-time friend, then at Willow. "You made Sirius smile." He said. "It hasn't happened for a while."

Still chortling, Sirius wiped his eyes. "I don't know if its a family trait, but your family has to be the nicest family in the world and, judging by what you just said, you fit right in, even though you've managed to stay away from these lunatics for your whole life. Offering me cookies..." Willow squeaked again, in surprise, when Sirius reached over and impulsively gave her a welcoming hug. "Thank you."

"But I didn't do anything!"

Blue eyes that seemed slightly less shadowed sparkled with amusement. "You didn't have to."

Looking around, slightly puzzled, Willow made a whimpering sound. "Am I allowed to be confused?"

"In this family, its a standard requirement." Harry replied with a grin, which faded when he received a magical slap around the ear from Molly. "Ow! Um, sorry, mum. I didn't know you were there."

Molly, fighting a smile, folded her arms over her aproned chest. "Obviously." Her eyes singled out Willow. "Willow, dear, could you come here for a minute. There's someone who wants to meet you."

Squeezing around various family members and guests, the youngest Weasley hurried into the kitchen, where her mother waited. Dodging out of the way as Amy raced past, trying to escape Ron, she joined her mother and father by the fire.

Dumbledore and a pretty, brown-haired woman were standing there, talking amiably to Molly and Arthur. "Ah," Dumbledore turned his attention to Willow as soon as she approached. "Miss Weasley. I would like you to meet Miss Granger."

"Hermione Granger?" Willow stared at the young woman she had heard so much about. If there was one thing that wasn't mentioned in the books, it was just how pretty Hermione actually was.

Her long, notoriously-unruly hair drawn back in a French braid, Hermione smiled broadly, her brown eyes shining. "Hi, Willow. Professor Dumbledore has been telling me all about you."

"Only good, I hope."

"Would I do anything but, Miss Weasley?" Dumbledore teased gently. 

"Of course only good." Hermione flashed a look at Dumbledore, who chuckled amiably, looking between the two women. "I hear you're joining Hogwarts after the summer and that you might want a muggle-born to help you get ready."

A look of appreciation crossed Willow's face. "You'd help me? That would be great! I have no idea what I'm doing and everyone here is great, but I need someone who knows what its like to come from a normal muggle family and...uh...babbling..."

"I heard you do that regularly." Hermione smiled.

"She certainly does." Dumbledore smiled, as Willow went crimson again. "I must admit, though, it does make conversations interesting. One moment you can be discussing dinner and the next, muggle logic. It's very educational."

Willow was scuffing her feet, looking very embarrassed.

"Don't mind the Professor." Hermione stepped over and took Willow by the arm. "I think its part of his job to successfully embarrass every person who passes through the school at some point in their life."

Dumbledore spread his wrinkled hands with an amused laugh, his brilliant blue eyes twinkling. "It appears that our Professor of Muggle Studies has a better measure of me than I assumed. How wise she is!"

"And I love you too, Professor." The brunette woman rolled her eyes. Willow was trying to decide whether to laugh at the display or not. Hermione didn't give her a chance to make up her mind. "Come on! Let's get one of the decent seats at the table, before they start having to conjure new ones." 

As the two young women departed, Molly studied their receding backs, Hermione turning to invite Willow into a conversation. "Do you think they'll get on all right, Albus?" She asked.

"Mentally, they're as alike as two peas in a pod." Dumbledore answered. "I think this is going to be very good for them. Neither of them has ever had anyone to match their abilities until now." He smiled at Molly. "But now, shall we join your family for that delicious meal you've spent so long working on?"

***

"And bam! We were up, one hundred to ten!"

"It wasn't exactly fair, though, was it?" Angelina smiled at her younger friend, who was enthralling all of Willow's brothers with tales from the latest match. Evening had fallen and - in the warm twilight - the table was illuminated by candles around the garden. "One of their Beaters was unconscious and their Seeker was being tailed by the bludger."

"That's the point, Angie!" Alicia laughed. "C'mon, admit it! We done good!"

"Um..." Willow waved a hand nervously. "The bludger is the crazy ball, right?"

Charlie grinned broadly. "Looks like little sister is catching on."

Fred and George sniffed in unison, exchanging looks. "We're so proud!" They both wailed, throwing themselves on one another's necks. Their siblings just shook their heads and ignored them.

"You guys are all totally crazy." Amy noted around a slice of Molly's thick, sweet strawberry tart.

Ron leaned to his left, where Willow was sitting between him and Hermione. "Is she always this observant?" He asked in a stage-whisper, that earned him a sharp elbow in the ribs from Amy. "Hey!"

Brown eyes looked around at him innocently. "What?" Amy asked sweetly. "I was just picking up my plate."

"It appears that Miss Madison fits in here rather well, does it not?" Dumbledore remarked with a twinkle in his blue eyes. Amy grinned around her dessert, the grin especially directed at Ron.

Ron wrinkled his nose, turning to Willow. "So, Will, what do you think of the family friends, then?"

"It...uh...its kind of weird to be sitting with everyone at this table." The youngest Weasley admitted. "I mean, only a few weeks ago, I thought I was living as normal a life as a teenage witch could on a Hellmouth and now, I'm having dinner with some of the most famous witches and wizards in the world."

Sirius shook his head, chuckling. "You class this meal as weird when you're dating a werewolf, your best friend is the Slayer and she was dating a vampire and your other best friend is dating a thousand year old ex-vengeance demon?"

"Not to mention that you lived on a Hellmouth for eighteen years." Hermione added, using her fork as a pointer. "No normal witch or wizard would ever do that if they could help it." 

"Well, I didn't exactly have a choice..."

"Was it very hard to control your magic?" The brunette witch asked curiously. "I've read that Hellmouth's manipulate the waves of power emitted by wizards or witches and can make it very difficult to do spells."

"I-I don't know. I thought it was all right, but I think that's just because I did live there." Willow shrugged, looking around the packed table for a jug of cream. "I was used to it." Spotting the jug, she held out a hand and the jug rose and floated straight to her. "Its so much easier to do magic here, though."

"Whoa..."

The youngest witch present looked around at her audience in confusion, startled to find every single one of them staring at her. "Um...did I do something wrong?"

"How did you do that wizout a wand?" Fleur asked.

"Do what?" Willow frowned, puzzled, then realised that she was holding the cream jug. "Oh! That was one of the first things I learned how to do." She poured the cream over her tart, the floated the jug back to it's place. "I started with a pencil and it was easy, once you knew what you were doing..."

"But you didn't use a wand, Will!" Ron repeated his sister-in-law's statement a little more emphatically.

"Mmm?" His sister gave him a confused look, her spoon in her mouth.

"I think what they're trying to ask," Hermione interceded quickly, shaking her head at Ron. "Is do you do all your magic sheerly on telepathic ability?" 

Swallowing her dessert, Willow put her plate down on the table, looking rather uncomfortable. "I...I sometimes use chants and stuff, if that's what you mean, but I can move stuff...I can make fire..."

"All without a wand?"

"Uh...yeah..."

"You can conjure fire without a wand?" Fred looked impressed. "Bet that's useful."

"First time I did it, I accidentally set my bed on fire." The youngest Weasley grinned sheepishly. "I was stupid enough to do it in my bedroom before I knew how big it would be. My mom...I mean, my adopted mom freaked."

"Do you have to use an incantation?" Angelina inquired.

Curious looks were directed at her from all sides of the table and Willow tried not to blush again. When she had learned her magic, she assumed that everyone learned the same way, but to find out that they had never seen magic like hers...

"Infierno." She said, opening her hand. Immediately a ball of flame erupted to life, hovering several millimetres above her open palm. Several sounds of surprise escaped various guests around the table. "Neat, huh?"

"What can you do with it?"

"Uh...duh!" Amy rolled her eyes at Ron, who had posed the question. "You can set things on fire with it."

"Don't be a smart arse." Ron grouched, then gurgled in protest as his mother shot a spray of bubbles into his mouth. 

"Aquatis!" Willow cried immediately and a gush of ice-cold water flooded down on Ron from above. Gasping, bubbles pouring out of his mouth, his eyes went wide as he was drenched to the skin. "Uh..." Shrugging helplessly, Willow gave her brother a weak smile. "Well, I got the water right...I just need to practise my aim."

Ron gurgled a sound at her. Had it been coherent, it probably would have earned him another mouthful of soap.

Unnoticed by any of the family, Dumbledore was surveying the eighth Weasley, as she tried to fend of her dripping brother, the other adults round the table roaring with laughter as she threw spell after spell at him.

His lips rose in a smile. 

She was happy and home and for that, he was grateful.

TBC...


	19. Like Minds

The Eighth Weasley - Chapter Nineteen LIKE MINDS

Notes: I'm not entirely sure what's going to happen in this chapter, since it isn't one of the more important ones, so I think it's just going to develop as we go along, so I apologise for the rambling nature that it will doubtless have.

Also, I've put together a Harry potter crossover list, if anyone is interested in joining - its muy quiet at the moment, but it'll be where all future HP crossovers are aired in my case: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/hpcrossover 

________________________________

"Willow, you decent?"

Before the youngest Weasley managed to get a reply out, the door opened and what looked like an enormous pile of books staggered in the door. Willow sat up on her bed, where she had been lying, reading, staring at the books.

"If you're a book-demon, I know how to destroy you." She threatened, then grinned as Hermione managed to negotiate the pile onto the floor without dropping any of the enormous volumes. 

"Just thought you might want to catch up on some light reading." The brown-haired witch puffed, her face flushed. Like Willow, she was wearing a casual pair of jeans and a shirt, the sleeves of which she had rolled up.

Willow slid off the bed, kneeling down beside the pile of books that was easily as tall as she was. "Couldn't you just have magicked them up the stairs?" She suggested, as Hermione sat down heavily beside her.

"Willow," The Muggle Studies Professor stated, still drawing deep breaths. "When someone has just lugged a pile of books up the stairs, you don't tell them what they should have done, okay?"

"Same as it was in Sunnydale, then?" Picking up the topmost book, she studied the cover, smiling a little. "Dark Arts..." Opening the thick cover, the smell of old leather rising from it, she studied the text. "Vampires, werewolves, incubus, succubus..." Her finger ran down the index. "Know, in love with, avoided, met..."

"So we can skip the dark arts for now?"

"Unless you know something about werewolves that I don't?" Willow challenged.

Hermione's nose wrinkled as she considered this. "They turn into wolves on three consecutive nights of the lunar cycle?"

"Having babysat a wolf for those nights, I know it."

"Er...werewolves don't classify as true wolves."

"And why is that?" Willow's eyes were dancing. 

"Because," Warming to her subject, Hermione motioned to the book. "They still have a somewhat human form, therefore it is usually identified as a creature of dark origins, because the first was caused by a dark spell gone wrong?"

Willow looked impressed. "I didn't know the first came from a spell. I always thought it was a demon."

"I think it could have been a little of both, if my research proves correct." Moving to sit a little closer to Willow, she opened the pages to the werewolf chapter. "There's something in here about the demon aspect, but there are other books that refer to a man who was trying to bind a demon by dark magic. Only, it ended up being bound to him on the nights of the full moon and the condition was passed when the demon bit other humans."

"Oz, my boyfriend, was bitten by his nephew, and I don't think his nephew could do any dark magic."

Looking at her, Hermione inquired. "Why?"

"He was teething at the time."

"A baby was a werewolf?"

"Yeah. We still don't know how it happened, but Oz took me to his uncle's one summer and I got to see him, when they both turned into wolves." She sighed. "They were so cute, when wolfy Oz looked after the baby wolf."

"I've heard werewolves called a lot of things, but I don't think cute is one of them."

Willow grinned. "Its kind of like having an oversized puppy." Hermione gaped at her. "All right, an overgrown puppy who could tear you limb from limb, but still a big, fuzzy puppy."

"So...uh...you won't need any advice about werewolves, then?" Laughing, Willow shook her head. "Okay...vampires?"

"Staked a lot of them."

"Succubus and Incubus? Grindylows? Kappas?"

"Know repellent charms for those kind of things, I think."

Hermione scratched her chin. "All right, we'll leave dark arts just now...how about potions? Can you make them?" A worried look crossed the red head's face. "Want to try out some of the simple ones?" 

"Sure!" With a wave of her hand, Willow summoned her cauldron and conjured a ball of flame beneath it. "So, do you have ingredients and things? I haven't got any of mine yet."

Withdrawing her wand from her pocket, Hermione waved it in the direction of the door. "Accio bag!"

Maybe what flew through the door was classed as a bag by Hermione, but - to Willow - it looked like the kind of enormous backpack that campers used, with straps and lines everywhere, tying the bulky pockets closed.

"Uh...you...you came prepared, didn't you?"

Digging out her own cauldron, Hermione grinned. "Well, if I'm going to help you get warmed up for Hogwarts, I thought I might as well bring everything I would consider it normal for a person to know and use."

A pile of bottles rolled out onto the floor and Willow picked a few of them up.

"Basilisk venom? Powdered Phoenix talon? Boiled bullfrog eyes?" She raised her eyes to the older witch. "Aren't these only used in more advanced potions?"

Hermione met her gaze levelly, brown eyes twinkling. "Well, if you want to make shrinking potions, instead of something that will definitely stop your twin brothers putting dungbombs in your bed, we can..."

"You know," The red head grinned. "I like the way you think."

The older witch smiled serenely. "I suspected you might."

***

Feminine laughter rang out from the uppermost bedroom in the Burrow.

Molly smiled, as she bustled around the kitchen below, the sound of her daughter a joy to her. However, Ron was sitting at the kitchen table looking distinctly ill-at-ease, his eyes flicking towards the source of the laughter.

"We shouldn't have introduced them, mum."

His mother glanced around at him. He had avoided the upper floors of the house since Hermione had arrived and Molly had noticed - even at the dinner - he had barely spoken to his former girlfriend.

"Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

Ron studied a knot in the table. "Nothing."

"I'm your mother. I can tell something is wrong."

Her youngest son looked up, his smile a strained one. "I...I didn't need to see her again, this soon after..." He trailed off, his attention wandering back to the table, his fingertips tracing around the black knot.

"This soon after...?"

"After we split up, mum." He sighed. "I know we agreed to it and that we should stay friends, but still, seeing her again, like this..."

Molly pursed her lips. Sitting down opposite her son, she reached over and took his hands between hers. "Ron, listen to me, I know this sounds hard, but you have to get over what you had. Its gone, has been since You-Know-Who was defeated."

"But I loved her, mum."

"Loved, yes." She gazed at him in a way that only a mother can, the way that suggests everything, but reveals nothing. "You have to remember that. You _did love _her. You _loved_ her. The past tense. I went through the same thing when I was sixteen, going on seventeen."

"You did?"

Molly nodded. "Your father lost his best friend for a long time because of me."

"Dad?" Ron stared at her incredulously. "What? Were they rivals or something?"

The plump witch chuckled. "Rivals and best friends in everything since their first year at Hogwarts." She said. "They started mock-fighting over me in third year. I was incredibly close to Rupert and he was the one who introduced me to your father." 

"Rupert? The Slayer's Watcher?" Ron blurted out in shock.

"Yes, Rupert Giles, the watcher." Molly sighed. "Probably the first person I ever fell in love with." A pensive look crossed her face. "Looking back, had Rupert asked me, I would probably have married him...I adored him and he me, but we acted more like friends, much like you and Hermione did during your school terms."

Ron nodded, understanding what that felt like. "Then your father came along, and as a joke, asked me on a date, much to Rupert's amusement and he...he...well, he sort of swept me off my feet." Her eyes wandered to the ring on her ring finger. "Before I knew it, we were secretly seeing one another, whenever we could, despite the fact that I was still seen as Rupert's girl by everyone else. Neither of us could face telling Rupert, we both loved him too dearly to hurt him that way."

"How did he find out?" Ron asked, with rapt fascination. He had always assumed that his oddly-matched parents had been together forever, never imagining that a third party would become involved.

Molly gazed at her hands for a long time before answered slowly. "He was to be taken from the school for Watcher training." She raised her eyes to her son. "He came to Arthur, another friend of their and me first, told us. He asked if he could speak to me alone and then, he told me..." She pressed a hand to her mouth, her vision blurring with tears as she remembered. "He told me that he loved me and wanted to be with me, if I could wait for him."

"And you told him?"

His mother nodded, seemingly unable to form a verbal response. In her mind's eye, she could still clearly see the second that Rupert's heart had shattered, the disbelief and grief in his green eyes as she told him that she loved another.

Ron squeezed his mother's fingers. "But you still got dad and all of us..."

"A whole Quidditch team and then some." She agreed, smiling faintly.

What she didn't say was the expression she saw in Rupert's eyes, the day they had met up with the group from America, in Diagon Alley. He still bore a flame for her, she could tell, and she wished it wasn't so, that he could have found someone to make him as happy as she was.

"Me and Hermione...we weren't proper boyfriend and girlfriend, anyway...I think."

"Oh?"

Ron nodded. "I love her to bits and everything, but she's too smart for me." He gave an amicable shrug. "As long as I don't have to see her for the next ten years, I think I can cope fine with her being friends with Will."

"It will get easier, Ron, I promise."

"Yeah...now, I just need to think about finding someone else."

Molly smiled. "You're not the only one who does."

That seemed to cheer Ron up a little.

"As soon as she gets a boyfriend, that's it!" He slammed his hand down on the table as emphasis. "I'm taking the first good-looking, funny and not-as-smart-as-Hermione girl that comes along."

Molly chuckled, getting back to her feet and returning to the dinner that was cooking in the oven, adding a huge pan of potatoes, as she glanced back at her plotting son. 

All her precious, barking-mad little boys, so much like their father in personality.

Ron and Percy were the only ones who were single at present.

They didn't hold out much hope for Percy, considering he worked, ate and slept, with a little breathing here and there. Molly secretly hoped that the new secretary that she and Arthur had planted at the office would distract their third son.

She could even seduce him on top of his desk, while in a meeting with the Minister of magic, for all Molly cared, as long as her little boy didn't work himself into an early grave.

As for Ron...

She smiled slightly. 

He was too similar to his father and with that in mind, she knew he would be fine.

***

"Eurgh! What's that stink?" The voices of the older twins rang down the hall, their footsteps clattering up the stairs towards Willow's room. The door was flung open, the twins stalking into the room.

Hermione and Willow were lying on their stomachs, side-by-side on the bed, sharing a huge book. Both of them looked up at Fred and George, who were looking like they were somewhere between yelling and being sick.

"Did you put something in our room?"

The two witches exchanged looks, then turned to the twins and - cupping their chins in their upraised hands - gave the pair matching indignant glares. "We don't know what you're talking about."

"Blimey..." George backed behind his brother. "That's just creepy."

"Did you do it?"

"Do what? Plant stink bombs?" Hermione asked, looking genuinely affronted. "We wouldn't do anything like that! That's a horrible thing to say!"

George waved an accusing finger down at her. "You put some kind of lingering stink bomb in there!"

"It might have been Ron!" Willow looked shocked by the accusation.

Fred and George exchanged looks. "Ron wouldn't have the brains or the nerve to come up with one of those kind of bombs. It takes a steady hand and knowing your potions better than you should."

"Still, I don't see what that's got to do with us. We're just innocent witches, after all. And I'm a teacher and you know teachers wouldn't do anything like that." Hermione said, resting her head on Willow's shoulder, both witches hard-pressed to smother their laughter.

Fred sighed. "There are times I hate smart arses like you two."

"Thanks." Hermione said sourly.

"Sorry." Willow put in apologetically. Her lips were pressed together and she did look sincere. "I just wanted to get you back for all the times you left dungbombs in here and made the place smell bad." She pulled a face. "I really thought about going back to America because it was so gross and I thought it was just the room." 

The twins looked somewhat mollified. "Er...thanks, Willow. And sorry about those bombs as well...we meant them in the best possible way."

Willow raised a hand. "By the way, if I were either of you, I wouldn't wear your green sweatpants or your black sneakers in the next three days, if you don't want to sprout claws and a tail." 

Hermione started to say something, but Willow nudged her, still smiling.

"I knew there was a reason I hated having a sister." Fred muttered. He faked a smile back at her. "Thank you for ruining our best clothes, Willow. Now, we'll just have to go and change into something less...best."

Both the twenty-two year-olds backed out of the door, shutting it behind them and Hermione immediately turned to Willow. "I thought you said you weren't going to tell them about the booby traps."

Casting an innocent look at her friend, Willow rolled onto her back and grinned at the ceiling. "Whoops..." She said without a trace of guilt. "I got confused. Its the blue pant and blue sneakers they shouldn't wear..."

"You sneaky little witch!" Hermione laughed.

Willow polished her nails on her chest smugly. "Thank you."

Unified yells of pain and surprise rang from the room one floor down and both young women exchanged looks.

Raising herself on her elbow, Willow grinned. "Oops."

***

"George, you are aware that you have a tail?"

"No, mum." Scowling as he sat down, George tried to ignore that his new appendage seemed to have a mind of it's own, as it coiled around the legs of his chair. "I had no clue about it."

Molly glanced down at Willow and Hermione, who were already sitting at the table, smiling innocently across at the twins. "Do you two know anything about this little thing?" She asked.

"Us, mom?" Willow had the innocent-eyes to perfection. "Hermione's been helping me learn stuff for potions, charms and transfiguration today, just the basic stuff, so I know what the Professors are talking about."

"And nothing to do with giving your brother a tail?"

"Or clawed feet." Fred added, clumping loudly into the kitchen. every set of eyes dipped under the table, to see Fred's feet swollen into scaly, lizard-like feet with four-inch-long claws scratching the tiles on the floor.

Ron was sniggering behind his hand.

"Mrs Weasley," Hermione said sincerely, brown eyes large and innocent. "Do you honestly believe I would teach your daughter such horrid things? She needs all the help she can get to catch up." She shot a dirty look at the twins. "They were probably coming up with more of Weasleys Wizard Wheezes."

Fred started to open his mouth, then - just as quickly - clapped it shut.

Their mother knew nothing about them being chief researchers and co-semi-part-managers of Zonko's Joke shop and anything he tried to use in an argument could be manipulated by the fact that everyone else at the table _did_ know.

Molly studied the two girls, who gazed back at her, straight-faced and wide-eyed. It was the overuse of the innocence act which convinced her. Still, it was nice to see someone in her family get one over on the pranksters.

"Well," She sighed. "I'm afraid that since we don't know who did it, we'll just have to wait until it wears off..."

"But mum! We know they did it and they probably have the antidote!"

Molly settled herself at the end of the table. "Like I said, we don't know they did it, so you'll just have to deal with having claws and tails." She paused, then added. "And if you so much as scratch my floor, you won't sit for a week, adult or not."

Mumbling, Fred and George turned their attention to their meals.

As soon as they looked down, their mother glanced over the table, and - meeting Willow and Hermione's eyes - Molly winked with a smile, which was returned by the two witches. She had always known that Hermione would be able to teach her daughter some interesting spells and potions.

It was just amusing that Fred and George were the unfortunate test subject of the very successful experiments.

TBC...

Previous Chapter  
Next Chapter - Coming Soon  



	20. Supplies

Chapter Twenty - Supplies

Notes: Okay, I'm back on track again - sorted out the chapters into a nice, organised spreadsheet. This is where things start getting fun...or, at least begin the lead-in to the fun, where Willow isn't the only Buffy-esque subject of crossover anymore. Anyway - back to Diagon Alley...

_________________

"Good afternoon, Mrs Weasley. Miss Weasley."

Choking on green ash, Willow blinked hard, her lashes crusted with the stuff. "Uh, hi, whoever you are." A wand tapped her on the head and her vision cleared, allowing her to look around.

She and her mother had used to Floo Powder to travel down to London to collect Willow's wizarding supplies. 

Apparently, they had arrived in a special store just inside Diagon Alley that had a fireplace for anyone using Floo Powder, or apparating directly in without having to pass through The Leaky Cauldron.

Willow looked around, fascinated. 

Several fireplaces lined one of the cream and green walls: an old-fashioned, wide, smoke-blackened, red-brick hearth with a sign above it that said 'Family Transport' in curly golden letters; a small, blackened stove-like hob apparently for 'Witches & Warlocks of the Elder Persuasion', as well as several smaller ones that were polished, gleaming impeccably for 'Individual Transportation'.

The wizard who had greeted them was a short, plump man, his grey robes coated in what was probably a permanent dusting of emerald powder. He had a round, friendly, red face, wispy, receding black hair and wore a broad smile and half-moon glasses halfway down his nose.

"Good afternoon, Basil. It's nice to see you again." Mrs Weasley smiled, taking the pudgy hand that was offered and shaking it.

Impish brown eyes that looked too young to belong to an adult twinkled. "When I heard that you and the famous missing Weasley might be coming in to pick up her supplies, I simply had to arrange my shifts to see you again."

"Mom?"

"Willow, dear," Bringing her daughter forward, she smiled. "This is Basil Dimley-Butterworth, an old friend." Willow politely shook his hand. "He's one of the Wizards who helped to try and find you, before he retired from the Ministry."

"Oh! Hi! Its great to meet you!" Shaking his hand a little more vigorously, Willow gave him a broad smile. "I'm Willow."

"It's a wonder they took as long to find you, as they did, Miss Weasley." Basil said, studying her. "Anyone with half an eye would be more than able to see you take after the ravishing beauty that is your mother."

"Basil!" Mrs Weasley laughed, swatting him. "You are terrible!"

"And always frightfully honest, Molly, you know that." He smiled from one woman to the other. "I suppose I will have to allow you to depart now." Stepping out of their path, he directed their attention to the door. "Diagon Alley."

"You're right, Basil." Pecking the giddy Wizard on the cheek, Mrs Weasley took her daughter's arm. "We should be off." 

As she was steered out of the shop and into Diagon Alley by her mother, Willow waved back at the receding figure of Basil. "By Mr...er...Bye Basil! It was nice meeting you!"

"And you, Miss Weasley!" He called after her. "And you!"

***

The streets were milling with people, witches and wizards of various ages bustling about, many young ones preparing for the return to school. The numerous colours of robes blended together into a kaleidoscope.

Her arm looped through her mother's, Willow looked around in awe.

She had been in Diagon Alley before, when they had been staying at The Leaky Cauldron, but it was still an incredible sight, so many different shops that seemed to normal, yet so bizarre in the same instant.

They had just been to Gringotts and Willow had been shown her own vault, which had been almost filled with contributions from the Ministry, as compensation for taking so long to find her. 

So, with wizarding money jingling heavily in the purse hanging against her hip, she was looking forward to the shopping spree ahead.

"And I suppose we ought to get you some decent robes." She was only half-listening to Mrs Weasley's words. "Mind you, knowing dear Professor Dumbledore, you would probably be allowed to wear muggle-wear..."

The young witch's eyes fell on a gleaming broomstick in the dimpled windows of the shop they had just past, her mouth dropping open. She didn't need her Quidditch-mad brothers to inform her that she was looking at a high-quality broomstick.

"And books...they're always awfully expensive...ah! Here we are!"

"Wha?" 

Molly smiled. "Ollivanders, dear." She nodded up at the peeling and cracked sign above the grimy window.

It read _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382BC. _From the looks of the shop, it hadn't been given a new sign since then. Willow's brows beetled. She glanced into the window and saw a single wand lying on a dusty pillow.

"Is...is it still a real store?" She asked uncertainly. "It looks a bit...uh...not-open."

"It has always looked like this, dear." Mrs Weasley assured her. "Come on."

Opening the door, which squeaked loudly as they did so, the bell jingled above them as they entered the gloomy building. It was as dusty inside as the outside suggested it might be, no one visible behind the counter.

Willow stared around, moving towards the counter in the middle of the store to take in everything. Mrs Weasley sat down on one of the spindly wooden chairs near the window, holding her handbag in her lap.

Everywhere in the tiny shop, boxes upon thin, narrow boxes were piled into every nook and cranny, some towering in dust-coated columns that looked like they would only be staying upright with help from magic.

Even the small lamp on the desk, which was giving out a buttery-yellow light that seemed to illuminate the whole shop, stood in a rather precarious position on top of a column of thin boxes.

It was almost as if someone had completely frozen time in the store, the heavy silence hanging as softly as the dust-spotted cobwebs that glistened in the corners of the uppermost shelves. 

As they waited, the silence getting deeper, Willow shifted uncomfortably, crossing her arms over her chest. "Mom...?" She started to ask, yelling in fright when a voice calmly spoke from right beside her.

"I did wonder if we would ever be seeing you in here." Spinning to face the speaker, Willow backed up slightly, startled. His frighteningly pale eyes gleamed at her in the pale light. "The youngest Weasley." 

"Uh...hi and..." Hoping it wouldn't sound to rude and blunt, Willow tried to smile at him. "Who're you?"

"Ollivander." The old wizard said with an enigmatic smile. "I was informed of your recovery by Professor Dumbledore, when he brought me that rather interesting choice of your wand core. They provide great power to the bearer, some of the power of the mythical creature itself."

"Oh! Right! Hair of a Slayer."

Ollivander gave her an expressionless look. "If one might ask, how did you come by such a rare item?"

"I pulled it off her head."

"Indeed? Interesting...very interesting...raise your wand arm, please..." The wizard withdrew a long, silver-marked measuring tape from one of his many pockets and started to measure her. "And how did you find her?"

"Uh..." Watching the tape measure flit out of Ollivander's hands and start measuring the length of her nose and width of her ears, the witch tried to remember what she had been asked. "Oh! I've been her friend for four years. I lived with her at college."

"You are on familiar terms with a Slayer, Miss Weasley?" Ollivander looked slightly surprised. "How very intriguing..." He walked into the stacks of boxes, still talking, as the measuring tape worked. "However, I will have to test your responses with other wand cores, lest there is something more suited to you." Returning with an armful of boxes, he gave her a small smile. "Although I have made a wand for you, to Professor Dumbledore's specifications."

"Okay." Willow squinted around the measuring tape. "What's this measuring me for, anyway?"

"To assess which wand would be best for you."

Willow looked a little bemused. "So I might not get one with Buffy stuff in it?"

"As I said, Miss Weasley, we will test you for the most compatible wand." He held out a thin stick with a distinct, decorated handle. "Humour me, if you will." Willow nodded, taking the wand. "Give it a wave."

Doing so, Willow squeaked in shock and almost dropped the wand when a miniature tidal wave spewed out of the back wall, behind Ollivander, sloshing down around her ankles as it trailed away to a trickle.

"Oh God! I'm sorry I didn't know it would happen!" 

Much to her surprise, Ollivander was chuckling. "Well, I suppose I did ask you to give it a wave and you certainly did that." He took the wand back. "That would be a no on this wand."

As he put that wand away and chose another, Willow noticed - to her astonishment - that her aquatic accident hadn't even disturbed the dust on the lower shelves, all of the boxes in exactly in the same place as they had been.

"Here. Try this one." Several more different wands followed in rapid succession, each bringing a mini-natural disaster with it, or so it felt to Willow, a small pile of wands mounting up on the counter beside Ollivander.

"What's meant to happen if it's the right one?" She asked sheepishly, smoothing down her wind-swept hair.

"Ah, you will know, Miss Weasley." Still smiling, Ollivander offered her a slim wand that looked somehow better than all the other ones. Willow couldn't say what it was about the wand exactly, but she held her hand over it for a heartbeat.

"This is the one." She said aloud, more to herself than anyone, before picking it up.

The wood was warm, smooth and the ridges of the handle seemed to fit perfectly against her fingers. She could feel the power radiating through it and swung it in a swishing motion, a dazzling rainbow painting across the musty air from the tip.

"Oh! That's beautiful, Willow!" She heard her mother exclaim.

"Indeed, Miss Weasley." Ollivander's eyes glimmered. "And, oddly, this is the very wand that was made for you." He took it from her and studied it. "You desired it, but it was the wand that selected you."

"This is the wand with the Slayer-hair in it?"

"It is. Twelve inches, willow with a slayer hair as the core." Placing it in the wooden box, he gazed steadily at Willow. "Be mindful, Miss Weasley. A Vampire Slayer is a very powerful individual. It goes without saying that this wand will be so, as well." 

"I'll be careful, Mister Ollivander." She promised. "I've done spells that went bad so I know about being real careful, because I don't wanna be seeing a skanky vamp me again, because that was just creepy and..." She trailed off, embarrassed.

A small smile reached his lips. "With the power already manifest in you, I only hope that I will stay on your good side." He handed her the box. "For such a unique witch, who gave me such a wonderful challenge in making this wand, I would like to make a gift of your first wand."

Blushing, Willow grinned. "Thanks, Mister Ollivander. You don't need to..."

"I will hear of no excuses!" Ollivander held up his hands. "It is a gift."

As the box was placed into her hands, Willow felt her smile broadening. "Thank you." She said sincerely. "I love it."

***

"Is there anything else I need, mom?"

Almost every shop in Diagon Alley had been paid a visit by the pair of Weasley women, the supplies for Willow's first year at Hogwarts rapidly mounting up as they afternoon wore on.

A set of formal black robes and deep, forest-green dress robes had been fitted for her by Madam Malkin, who commented on how skinny Willow was compared to most of the normal-sized pupils she dealt with, tutting and telling Molly to feed her up.

The clerk in the book shop had fawned all over Willow, eagerly telling her that he had been following her dramatic story in the Daily Prophet and - he asked somewhat nervously - could he bother her for an autograph.

Blushing scarlet, her mother chuckling behind her, Willow had hastily scribbled her name on a piece of parchment, before dropping a handful of coins on the counter and fleeing the shop with her books.

The only time she could recall being more embarrassed was when she had been forced to wear Vampire-Willow-wear, which had revealed more of her chest than she had ever shown before.

Her mother had found it very amusing and hadn't stopped chuckling for half an hour after they left the shop, another burst of giggles escaping her every time that Willow started to ask her something. 

She had finally calmed down after a brief stop at Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream parlour, where Willow had found out that she could actually get snozzberry flavoured ice-cream, much to her surprise.

They had just departed the parlour, for one last sweep of the shops, to pick up anything they might have forgotten.

Looking down in the enchanted, Mary-Poppins-style basket she was carrying, which worked on the principal that it could never be filled, Mrs Weasley smiled. "I think we have everything you need...except..." She withdrew a piece of parchment with a list on it. "Aha! A pewter cauldron."

Willow shook her head. "I can't believe that we actually use cauldrons and wands. I always thought that that was what muggles decided magic was done with. I didn't think we'd really have them."

"I doubt the muggles would expect us to use them either. If you claim to be a witch, while wearing robes and stirring a cauldron, with a black cat at your feet, they won't believe a word you say."

"Must be kinda useful, huh?" Molly looked at her questioningly. "You look so much like a stereotype that they think you're just pretending and they don't even realise that you are a witch, because you look too similar to how they imagine one to look." A lop-sided grin crossed Willow's face. "Well, it made sense in my head..."

Mrs Weasley laughed. "I'm sure it did, dear." She took her daughter's arm again, both of them making their way towards the Cauldron shop, cauldrons of all shapes, sizes and metals standing in piles around the store-front and windows.

"They're so dinky!" Willow exclaimed, as they approached the pewter cauldrons.

"Well, you don't need to get a full size one yet, Willow." Her mother reminded her, smiling. "These ones work well enough."

"They're so cute! It's like a weeny baby cauldron!" She picked one up, cradling it carefully in her hands, studying it from all sides. The polished metal gleamed, her distorted reflection staring back at her.

"Can I help you, ladies?" Willow and her mother turned to find a tall, lanky wizard in grimy grey robes with the sleeves pinned up above his knobbly elbows, wearing a tan, leather apron over his clothes, a polished cauldron gripped in one hand.

"I need to get one of the wee...er...small pewter cauldrons." Willow held up the one she had in her hands. "How much are they?"

The wizard studied her for a moment, then replied. "The small pewter ones are three galleons and seven sickles plain, or four galleons and three sickles with decoration. If you want it engraved, for a personal touch, it costs five knuts a letter."

"Mom?"

"You want one with your name on it, don't you?" Mrs Weasley smiled indulgently.

Willow grinned weakly. "Uh...well, it would be kinda neat..." She looked at the one she was holding. "Can I get this one?" The wizard nodded. "And-and on it...can I get something engraved on it?" 

"Of course." Placing the cauldron in his hands on the counter beside him, he took the small cauldron from her. "What do you want engraved on it?"

"Willow Weasley." She said immediately, smiling at her mother.

"That will be two sickles and seven knuts." He withdrew his wand, from a pockets in his robes, tracing the outline of letters on the smooth side of the cauldron. They immediately started to glow and brightened until Willow had to look away. When her vision cleared, there was her name, in perfect, looping letters. "Now, would you like with or without decorations?"

"What kind of decorations can I get?"

"There are several basic ones..." He showed them, by tapping the wand against the cauldron's side, the shape shifting a few times, growing feet and adding extra handles, before it returned to its original form. "Or you could develop one of your own."

Biting on her lower lip thoughtfully, Willow studied the cauldron for a long time, then a smile crossed her face. "Okay," She said. "This is what I want my cauldron to look like..."

***

"You can't do anything like a normal person, can you?" Ron remarked dryly. 

He was examining Willow's new cauldron, as his youngest sister tried to arrange her large pile of supplies that were spread across her bed and the bedroom floor around her, to get them into her new, leather, brass-bound trunk.

"You could...ugh..." Willow was stuck halfway under the bed, trying to extricate herself and the trunk, unsuccessfully. "Help..."

"Yeah, yeah..." Ron continued to study the cauldron, ignoring her. 

It had four little feet that looked like a werewolf's paws, complete with claws, no doubt to remind her of her boyfriend. The handles looked like they were made of three stakes of wood for the Slayer connection. Lastly, and oddly, there was a cartoon-styled dog, which he assumed was because of Xander and something Willow had mentioned about the 'Snoopy dance'. 

However, one thing did puzzle him. "Will, what's the leaf-thing about?"

Squirming out, covered in dust, the youngest of the Weasleys looked up at her brother. "When I said I needed help, I did kinda mean now, Ron." She crossed her arms petulantly over her chest.

"I know, but what's the leaf thing about?" He flashed a wide grin at her, and despite her annoyance, she couldn't help smiling back. he motioned to the wreath of leaves that circled the top of the cauldron. 

"They're willow leaves."

Ron groaned.

"What?"

"You...Willow leaves...oh God...that's just awful, Will."

Sticking her tongue out at him, Willow snatched her cauldron from him. "Well, since you don't like that," She said, sniffing. "You can be useful and get my trunk out from under the bed."

"And you say you and Ginny are nothing alike..." Ron muttered, getting off the bed and kneeling down to look for the trunk.


	21. The Hogwarts Express

Chapter Twenty-One - The Hogwarts Express

Notes: Like Supplies, this is where things start to get fun, mad and kind of interesting, so I couldn't wait to get started on these chapters (even though I'm meant to be reading a book on the Documentary - sense the excitement vibrating in the air!). Oh and I bet you can't GUESS what this chapter is about, looking at the title. Mmm. I'm just so cryptic...

_________________________

"MERLIN!" Running across the bedroom floor, pursuing her renegade owl, Willow ran onto the bed, grabbing at him, as he deliberately avoided her, clearly not wanting to return to his cage. "Stay still, you stupid bird!"

"You really have a way with animals, Will." Ron chuckled. He had been the one to lug her trunk down the stairs a few moments earlier, leaving her to try and capture Merlin, who hooted from his spot by the lampshade.

"D'you want to do something useful, instead of just standing there and making smart remarks?" Her red hair wild around her rosy face, hands on her denim-clad hips, she looked down at him.

"I am doing something useful." Her brother replied, grinning up at her. "I'm making your room look good by honouring it with my presence." Still, he did walk into the room and shut the door behind him. "Right, you little sod...send the bird this way."

"Ron!"

"Kidding, Will." He laughed, but didn't quite duck in time. 

A pillow hit him squarely in the face.

"Right!" Catching the pillow, he gave his sister a wicked grin. "It's war!"

"Ron! No!" Backing across the bed, she looked down frantically, stooping to grab another pillow, only for the one in her brother's hands to crash down on her head, sending her tumbling on the rumpled blankets. "RON!"

Pausing mid-swing, he frowned. "What?"

"Nothing!" Her second pillow hit him in the face. At such close range, it exploded sending a cloud of feathers into the air, as she leapt for another pillow, her brother's hand grabbing her ankle. "RON!"

"That's me!" He laughed, whapping her soundly across the head with the pillow, before starting to tickle the bare strip of belly that had been revealed when her pale pink baby-T had ridden up.

"Noooooooo!" Shrieking, Willow tried to kick out at her brother, but he had pinned down her legs and tickled her mercilessly, leaving her giggling and breathless. "Stop it! Stop!"

"Willow, what's going on in..." Molly Weasley trailed off, two of her three youngest children staring at her, both red in the face, laughing and covered from head to toe in white, fluffy feathers. "Oh, for goodness sake, you two..."

Squirming out from beneath Ron, giving him a shove that dropped him onto the floor, Willow smoothed her hair. "He started it, mom! I was trying to catch Merlin and he wouldn't help!"

"Uh-huh!" Sitting up on the floor, he wagged a finger at her. "Who threw the pillow at my head, Little Miss Innocent?"

Willow scowled up at him. "But you were standing, making with the not-funnies and not helping and then I had a pillow and it went poof and feathers went everywhere and you started tickling me and then everything was a mess." She gave her mother a helpless look. "Oops?"

"Well, it's too late to do anything about it now." Molly sighed, almost smiling at Ron's indignant expression. "Have you got your owl into his cage? Your father has finished packing the car and we're just waiting for you."

"Actually, tiny problem." She pointed upwards, where Merlin was perched on the lampshade, hooting happily.

Molly Weasley stepped into the room, avoiding feathers where she could. "You'll have to train him up, dear." She remarked, then called up to the owl. "Merlin, you get your feathery tail into that cage now, or Willow will never feed you again!"

In a blink, the owl had shot down from the ceiling and straight into his cage, gold eyes gleaming in Willow's direction.

Approaching the cage, Willow shut the door firmly. "I might not feed you anyway, cos you were being annoying." She tried to sound convincing. Merlin gave a plaintive hoot. Willow's resolve crumbled. "But you're so cute!"

Shaking her head, Mrs Weasley smiled. "You're too soft, Willow, dear." She said, gesturing for Willow and Ron to go to the door. "You're really going to have to teach that bird some discipline."

"Yes, mom."

"And Ronald,"

"Yes, mum?"

"You'll be clearing this up when we get back."

"Aw, mum!"

***

"I don't get it." Standing on platform nine, looking across the barrier to platform ten, Willow shook her head. "There can't be a hidden door there."

"Well, it isn't exactly a door, dear."

Along with her parents and Ron - all her other siblings at work - Willow Weasley stood on the spot where Platform 9 and 3/4 was. Allegedly. Staring at the solid barrier between the platforms, she shook her head again.

It was the 31st of August, the date that had been in her formal letter of acceptance to Hogwarts, and now, she was still trying to convince herself that she could walk onto an invisible platform through a border of metal without being noticed. 

Her mother had explained that they had been forced to change the departure date because of all the muggles who were determined they could cross the barrier on the morning of September 1st, as detailed in the Rawlings books.

Ron quietly had added that he had gone on the 1st, the previous year, just to watch numerous deluded muggles walking straight into the metal barrier and almost knock themselves out. He had found it hilarious.

"D'you want me to go through first?" Her brother asked. "It's not hard."

"Looks hard to me." Willow mumbled.

"I mean crossing through it, not the actual barrier." Stepping around her, he gave her a reassuring smile. "Just watch what I do, then follow me through, right?" She nodded dubiously, watching intently.

Casually, Ron strolled to the barrier and leaned against it, shooting a grin back at his sister. The red-haired witch uttered a squeak of surprise when he seemed to just fall through it.

"It worked!"

"Of course it worked, Willow." Arthur said. "Like he said, it isn't as hard as you'd imagine." He held out a hand to her, which Willow grasped like a child on their first day of school would, directing a question at her mother. "Molly, can you bring the trolley through after us?" 

"Just make sure you get through safely." Molly nodded.

Leading their daughter to the barrier, Arthur Weasley looked down at her. "Are you ready, Willow?" She nodded nervously. "Don't worry. You'll get through fine." Side-by-side, they leaned on the barrier, as if looking at the train on the other side.

"What do we doooooooo!" Willow couldn't help crying out as the sturdy support she was leaning on seemed to give way and she pitched forward in a swirl of metal, brick and darkness.

Two pairs of hands caught her, when she was convinced she was about to tumble and land on her face. Looking up, she found her father holding her right arm and Ron hold her left.

"Uh...did it work?" She straightened up, embarrassed.

"What do you think, Will?" Ron nodded ahead of them and Willow's mouth fell open in awe. 

They were inside some kind of enormous cavernous railway station, high, dark walls towering on all sides, the platform cluttered with witches and wizards armed with trunks, owls, cats and toads.

Purplish smoke and steam billowed around them as Ron and Arthur led her out onto the bustling platform around several robe-clad witches who were trying to bundle their illusive offspring into carriages, her eyes trying to take in everything at once.

Everything was dusky and softly-lit by the flickering lampposts, but it didn't look gloomy, foreboding or at all frightening. It had an air of magic and mystery, which hung over the whole concealed platform.

That was when she saw it, just a little way ahead of her. While she had read the books about their world voraciously, she had never imagined the Hogwarts Express to look so...wow!

Brilliant red in colour, it was surrounded by the swirling smoke and steam that didn't make it look less impressive. If anything, it made it look more spectacular, the metalwork gleaming and glinting by the light of lamp posts on the platform.

"You got through all right, dear?" Molly bustled up behind them, steering the trolley which was laden down with Willow's dark brown, brass-bound trunk. Willow could only nod, staring at the train. "Well, come on then! We better find you somewhere to sit before all the seats are taken."

Mouth hanging open, Willow allowed herself to be steered along between knots of families, who were ushering their youngsters onto the train. 

Ron was pointing out windows in the different carriages. "And that's the place me and Harry first met, on the way to Hogwarts in first year..." He grinned. "And this one is where I got Pig..."

"And they have a witch with a buffet car, who should serve you at some point on the journey." Her mother was talking on her other side, most of it passing straight through Willow's head, her attention riveted on everything she was seeing.

Teeming everywhere, young witches and wizards - clad in robes and muggle-wear - aged between eleven and eighteen were hugging parents, siblings and loved ones, as they climbed into the compartments of the train, some gathering in groups of friends.

Never in her life had she imagined seeing so many trainee witches and wizards. It seemed such a surreal experience to be watching them laughing and talking together like normal children on their way to school.

"Ah! Here we go!"

"Huh?" Looking in the direction her father was pointing, Willow spotted a little sign sealed in the window. Her eyes bugged. It read. "Reserved for the personal use of Miss Willow Weasley."

"Blimey, Will, you've got friends in high places!" Ron remarked, shaking his head, as their father opened the door of the carriage, the brass handle gleaming. The interior of the cabin was impeccable, the patterned blue, red and green fabric of the seats vibrant. "They even cleaned them for you! That's a first!"

"They...they gave me a special compartment?" Willow was stunned. Her father was already heaving her trunk up, into the compartment. With a little help from Ron, they shunted it under one of the seats. "But...but I don't deserve anything special." She looked helplessly at her mother. "Why'd they give me something like this? I should sit with everyone else!"

"Well, you are a little older than most of the pupils, Willow." Molly reminded her gently. "And you do deserve a little special treatment, after all your time away from the magic world."

"But I'll be on my own..."

"Not entirely on your own." A quiet voice spoke from behind them. Willow turned, startled, a delighted smile illuminating her face. Professor Lupin returned the smile with one of his own small ones, so similar to Oz's. His eyes twinkled. "That is, if you don't mind me invading your private booth."

"No! Of course not! I mean, no, I don't mind! I didn't want to be sitting on my own and now, here you are! On your own! And I'm on my own too and we can, you know, sit together and we can talk about stuff...well, I can talk, and you can sit and be all stoic and quiet and..."

"And she starts babbling before she even gets on the train." Another voice added, amused. "Somehow, I shouldn't have been surprised." Willow's eyes flicked over Lupin's shoulder and she released a squeal of glee.

"Hermione!"

Accepting a brief hug from the youngest Weasley, Hermione grinned and wagged a finger at Willow. "That's Professor Granger to you, Weasley."

"Yeah, right, Hermione." Willow returned the grin. "Do you wanna sit with me and Professor Lupin?"

"Remus." Professor Lupin corrected gently.

"Right," Willow smiled at him. "Remus..."

Looking at the compartment, Hermione nodded. "Well, considering that Remus and I were meant to apparate straight to the school, I suppose we can force ourselves to tolerate your company for a few hours instead."

"You came to keep me company?"

"Actually, I came for the cauldron cakes." Remus said, his eyes twinkling.

Willow couldn't help smiling broadly at him. "And there I was, thinking that you liked me, but nope!" She pointed at him in mock-accusation. "Traitorous lover of cauldron cakes!"

"Poor, neglected baby, aren't you, Will?" Ron wrapped his arms around her, his chin resting on top of her head. "You're just going to have to bug the knickers off these two Professors, to make them change their mind about not liking you."

"I can do that."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, wonderful." She groaned. "Just give her ideas, Ron."

"That's all part of the cunning plan, Hermione." He winked at her, raising a smile out of his ex-girlfriend. "Right, Will, we better let you get on and settled. The train leaves in a tick."

"You'll write to me?" Turning to give him a hug, she looked up at him.

"Only if you do the same for me." He glanced towards the van where the owls were loaded in their cages, his face twisting slightly. "And only if you can catch Merlin and I can catch Pig."

"Deal." She laughed. "Mom? Dad?"

"We'll come and see you if you want us to, dear." Molly hugged her tightly. "Please let us know that everything is all right."

"I will. I love you, mom." She reluctantly released her mother, immediately being grabbed in an embrace by her father, who said nothing, but just held her tightly for a long moment. "I love you too, dad." She whispered.

Drawing back, his eyes misted with tears, he smiled. "Do us proud, Willow, like you were always meant to." He paused, then added. "And make sure to play at least one prank a month..."

"Arthur! Don't you listen to your father, Willow!"

"And you said you didn't know why the other twins are the way they are!" Laughing, Willow hugged each of them once more, then clambered up the small steps and into the compartment, Professors Lupin and Granger following her.

Arthur slammed the door shut for them, Willow leaning out of the window to wave to them as the train started to move.

"Have fun, Will! Don't cause too much trouble!" Ron yelled as the train started to pull away from the platform. "And if you get put into Slytherin, make sure you show 'em not to pick on a Weasley!"

Leaning out a little further, she waved a proud fist in the air as she yelled back. "I'm a Gryffindor, baby!"

Ron shouted something back, but she was too far away to hear what it was. She could guess, though, by the fact that their mother immediately grabbed him and hosed out his mouth with her wand.

She continued to wave until the train rounded the corner, out of the station and onto the open rails, and her parents and brother vanished out of sight.

***

"I wish you could have met everybody, when they were here." Willow was sitting between Remus and Hermione, her collection of muggle photographs being shown to the pair of Professors.

They had been travelling for several hours, when Lupin had raised a question about Oz, surprising both of them with the fact that he actually spoke, as well as starting a new thread in the conversation.

In response, Willow had hunted out her photograph album from her trunk, eagerly pointing out Oz in all of the pictures, then each of her group of friends, pangs of loneliness and reminiscence hitting her.

Hermione had been fascinated by Buffy, the Slayer. She had an immense list of questions, which she immediately whipped out, written in her neat script on several sheets of parchment.

They were about where a Slayer's strength came from, why a certain person would be chosen as a Slayer, who decided what were true Slayer-related prophesies, why certain watchers were assigned certain slayers and many more questions that Willow had no clue about the answer to.

For her part, though, Willow was grateful for something that would allow her to talk about her friends. She was starting to miss them a lot, now. It had been weeks since she had seen them and she hoped she would be able to get at least Oz to visit soon.

"So she started fighting demons when she was fifteen?"

"I think so. Or just before she had her birthday." Willow answered eagerly. "I met her when she moved to Sunnydale. I thought she was like all the other...uh...cool girls in the school, but she actually spoke to me about being study buddies." She paused to drink from her bottle of pumpkin juice. "Oh! And then she saved my life! We kinda had to become friends after that."

"Was this during the harvest in 1997?" 

Willow choked on the Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Bean she was chewing. "How do you know about that?"

"I read about it." 

"You never fail to surprise me, Hermione. Even when I know what I should expect, you've surprised me." Both witches stared at Lupin. He looked as calm and unruffled as ever. "Oh." He added, noticing their stares. "This is my surprised face."

Shaking her head, Hermione glanced at Willow, who had clapped her hand to her mouth to smother her giggles. Slowly, the Muggle Studies teacher started to smile, then laugh along with the red head.

Then, much to their surprise, Lupin joined in.

"Let me guess," Willow laughed. "That's your amused face?"

Twinkling eyes met hers. "How could you tell?"

"Call it a wild guess." She rested her head on his shoulder, patting his arm. "I think it could have been the smile that gave you away..."

Lupin tutted, as if disappointed that he had given himself away. "I'll have to work on that, won't I? Can't start showing facial expressions on a regular basis. It may scare people." Resting his cheek against the top of her head, he winked down at her.

"And they call it puppy love..." Hermione started to sing under her breath, not even looking at them, but with a visible smirk on her lips.

"Hey!" Willow protested, laughing. "I have a puppy already!" Hermione turned to her, looking from Willow's position to Lupin's. Saying nothing, she simply raised an eyebrow and Willow pulled a face at her. 

"She's just jealous." Lupin muttered, unheard by Hermione. 

Willow, however, heard, and immediately burst out laughing again.

Giving Lupin a dirty look, Hermione inquired. "What did you say, Remus?"

"Me?" His face once more expressionless, he gazed at her. "What makes you think I said anything, Professor Granger?"

Hermione's brow rose again. "You're blank faced and when someone is in hysterics near you, it isn't usually a good thing." Both of Remus' brows rose, making him look even more helpless and innocent than before. "Professor Lupin..."

"I simply commented that you might be wanting a puppy of your own, Professor Granger, nothing more."

Smothering a chuckle, Hermione returned her attention to her notes. "I'm sure..."


	22. Hogwarts Bound

HOGWARTS BOUND

Notes: Gyah! I had a nice set of notes written for this and what was meant to be one tiny little scene became five pages. So, here we are - Willow's arrived at Hogsmeade and its just a lil bitty chapter about getting from there up to the castle and her finding out what it is to be famous.

SORTED (which was originally this chapter - I really have to stop adding them) will be the next chapter :)

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"We're going to leave you with Hagrid, so you can go across the lake on the boats, if that's all right with you, Willow." Hermione was helping Willow straighten her robes, which she had just donned, the red-haired witch's face white as she tried to do up the buttons with shaking fingers.

"Yeah...yeah, that'll be good...I've heard the castle is neat with all the lights and towers and cliffy stuff and..." She whimpered. "Oh god...what if the boat sinks? What if I don't even make it to the school? What if the sorting hat doesn't like me? What if it tells me to go home? What if everyone laughs at me and..."

Lupin's hands came down on her shoulders, as reassuring as Oz's touch. "You're going to be fine, Willow." He soothed. "You're a Weasley and no Weasley was ever rejected from Hogwarts."

"Fred and George almost got themselves kicked out a few times." Hermione volunteered, reaching up to smooth Willow's slightly mussed hair. She smiled at the red-haired witch. "But I don't think you're quite like them."

"You really think I can do this?" Willow asked hopefully, staring at Hermione.

The older witch nodded with a smile. "Willow, with you, I believe you could do anything you wanted." Brushing a loose lock of the red hair back from Wllow's face, she touched her cheek gently. "They're going to love you."

"Even Snape?" Her brows rose.

Lupin coughed. "That might be asking for a miracle."

"Well, Mister, you're looking at Willow Weasley! She who can do anything!" Her over-acted enthusiasm made them both smile. Willow looked down at herself, touching her robes. "Oh God...I'm actually doing it...well, not it it," She corrected herself hastily. "But it! Going to Hogwarts!"

"That you are." Lupin murmured, as the train shuddered to a halt. "But now, come on. We'll take you to Hagrid. He's been dying to meet you."

"Uh-huh?" 

Willow's nervous squeak made Hermione laugh and she caught the younger witch's fingers, squeezing them reassuringly. "Don't worry about Hagrid. He looks terrifying, but he's an angel."

"Right...giant angel...got it..."

"Firs' years!" They heard the booming voice before they had even exited their private compartment, Hermione keeping a grip on Willow's hand in case the youngest Weasley froze, as she had when they suggested she should get her robes. "Firs' years, this way!"

"C'mon, Willow!" Pulling her friend out of the carriage, the muggle-born witch led Willow out onto the bustling platform.

Above them, the sky was clear and dark as deep blue velvet, stars spotted here and there, a few wisps of cloud swirling around the moon, which shone like a new penny high above them. It was fairly cool, because it was so clear, but Willow's robes were thick enough to keep her warm, although the breeze was chilly on her cheeks.

The station was fairly small and looked like it had been taken right out of an old-fashioned movie, fields and hills visible in the distance, beyond the tracks they had just travelled down.

Willow stared around in awe, almost knocked off her feet by pupils of various ages hurrying towards the horseless coaches that stood just outside the station, chatter and the sounds of feet tinted wit the flapping of robes.

"A' righ', Hermione?" The thunderous voice of the giant reached them , distracting her, as she was dragged along the platform towards the main light, which turned out to be a large lantern held aloft by an enormous, hairy man.

"Hello, Hagrid." Locking her hands around Willow's arm, Hermione hauled her forward, Willow making a faint whimpering sound as she tilted her head back to stare UP at the giant man.

Brilliant black eyes twinkled behind the wiry mass of hair and fixed on Willow's face, a huge hand reaching out towards her. "Is...surely this can' be..." He bent a little closer and stared at her. "Good grief!"

The lantern was thrust into Hermione's hands, almost dragging her to the ground with it's weight, as Willow was lifted off the ground in a giant's embrace. The red-haired girl managed to utter a squeak, her face buried in thick, bristly beard.

"By 'eck Sarah...Willow...I 'aven't seen yer since yer were a baby...yer mum brought yer ter visit..." He placed her back on her feet carefully, his massive hands still on her shoulders. "They told me yer would be comin' ter Hogwarts but they didn' tell me how much ye'd grown...or how pretty ye were..."

Willow blushed to the tips of her ears. "Um...yeah...that's me...all-grown-up Willow. no more weeny baby Willow anymore. All big and grown and everything...not so much with the pretty, but hey..."

Hagrid chuckled a deep, booming laugh, as he clapped her shoulder, making her legs buckle. "Yer just like yer sister was." He said, the expression in his dark eyes warm and friendly. Willow found herself liking him already.

"We'll be off now." Hermione said, giving Willow a quick hug. "We'll see you at the castle, all right?" The youngest Weasley nodded, swallowing hard, as Lupin and Granger both melted into the crowd of pupils and vanished.

"Any more firs' years?" Hagrid bellowed, keeping Willow close beside him, his hand light, but a comfortable weight on her shoulder. Several more children hurried along, looking terrified. "Firs' years, this way! Follow me!"

They started out of the gates and Willow felt Hagrid squeeze her shoulder. Raising a hand, she grabbed his, barely able to even wrap her small hand round one of his large fingers. He beamed down at her.

"Mind yer step." He called back to the group following behind them. "Stay close ter me, Willow. I'll make sure ye get there all right." She nodded, as he lead them on into the darkness and suddenly the path seemed to plunge out from beneath her.

Hagrid's arm stabilised her and she heard him yelling cautions back to the other first years, as they descended a rough, rocky path. She was sure she could feel roughly-hewn steps beneath her feet, but didn't want to risk looking down in case there was no side to the path and she plunged over the edge.

Gravel rattled beneath her stumbling feet and her hands were starting to go numb with the cold, as she pressed against Hagrid's side, when she felt him squeeze the hand that was still held in his.

"Look ahead." He murmured as quietly as he could, his beard tickling her ear. "Yer just about ter see Hogwarts."

Reluctantly raising her head, she opened her eyes fully and looked up as they came around a shadowy crag and her mouth fell open in wonder as Hogwarts came into view for the first time.

It had been described amazingly in the books, but nothing, not a word of what Rowlings had written, had prepared her for how incredibly the building looked, even from a distance.

Across a black lake, upon which the reflection of the round moon rippled, the castle - spiked with turrets and towers of all shapes and sizes - perched on top of a high mountain, pinpricks of light shining where windows were, the black silhouette strikingly clear against the deep blue of the sky.

"Wow..." She managed to whisper, as they continued down the path, ripples of awe and exciting reaching her from the huddle of excited eleven-year-olds who were crowding behind them.

"S'pretty impressive, eh?" Hagrid murmured appreciatively. "I've seen it every year for years, but ye have to admit its somethin' special seein' it just like' that." He cast a twinkling looked down at her. "Yer lucky it isn' rainin' this year."

"I'll say." Willow answered, shivering a little, her teeth clattering together.

They made their way down towards a small fleet of boats that were bobbing gently at the shoreline, each with a small lamp at the prow, the giant calling out that only four people were allowed to a boat and he reluctantly informed Willow that she would have to sit with someone else because their combined weight would be too much for the small boat.

"No biggie!" She cast a feather-light charm on herself with a quick gesture. "See! I weigh the same as a feather now." Hagrid gave her a dubious look, but when she held out a hand, he tugged lightly and hoisted her off her feet.

"Blimey, Willow, where'd ye learn a trick like tha'? I doub' half the Professors at Hogwarts'll know tha' spell, specially without an incantation or summat." He said, as he let her clamber into the boat and onto the seat in front of him, her body sandwiched between his immense knees.

The boat started to move with a gesture from the giant and she tilted her head back to look at him.

"Oh, it's an easy one. I found it in a book in a store in Sunnydale." She grinned up at him. "Kinda useful for when I was sneaking out of the house to help Buffy. I was so light no one could hear me creeping out."

The giant looked down at her disapprovingly. "Ye could have got hur', Willow." He said, the genuine concern in his voice making her feel guiltier than knowing she had disobeyed her parents.

"But I didn't." She leaned back against his chest, a little surprised when he wrapped his arms around her. With his heavy, furry coat, her felt warmth returning to her cold arms and legs, as they neared the cliffs at the base of the mountain.

"Heads down everyone!" Hagrid called out, ducking down over Willow as they swept through a trailing curtain of ivy into an opening in the dark cliff-face, bobbing into a dark tunnel.

The narrow, gloomy tunnel didn't seem too long, opening out into a small, enclosed harbour built into the rock, which Willow guessed was somewhere deep beneath the castle's foundations.

Ahead of them, a flight of stone steps opened up into the castle's grounds, the grass washed a silvery blue in the moonlight, as Hagrid lead the way towards the enormous oak front door.

Raising an immense fist, he knocked twice.

Immediately, the doors swung inwards, revealing the person who Willow had been expecting, Professor McGonagall. As Hagrid introduced the group as 'the firs' years' and departed, Willow could feel the Professor's intense green eyes on her face.

Those eyes remained on her face, making the red head feel slightly uncomfortable as she and the rest of the first years were informed that they would be taken into the Great Hall and sorted into their houses, leading them into the waiting hall.

Having memorised the speech from the Harry Potter books, Willow looked around in wonder, at the walls and windows of the building above them. Everything looked like it was magical, even the shapes of the arched windows and domed ceilings.

Faces moved around in the pictures on the walls and she almost reached out to pet a small cat that was pawing at the frame of the picture it was in. A wizened witch was staring at her, so she stuck her tongue out, moving on to the next picture.

The witch darted through the frame and stared at her from there as well.

Turning her attention away from the witch, Willow glanced at a landscape painting where a short Knight in rusty and grass-stained armour was chasing after a fat pony and she giggled, remembering he was Sir Cadogan, notorious because of his role in the whole entry-of-Sirius-Black-with-a-knife-to-Gryffindor-Tower, years before.

Her eyes were trying to take in everything: the black and white checked floor, the marble staircases and banisters, the colours, the smells. She didn't know how she could tell, but the place even smelled of magic.

The aura of the place...

Closing her eyes, she inhaled a breath.

Not only was there power - fresher and cleaner than she had felt on the Hellmouth, almost like fresh laundry that had been dried outside on a Spring day - but there was such a sense of wondrous peace.

She just wanted to immerse herself in it, as it tingled through her skin, an expression of bliss on her face.

By the time McGonagall returned into the Hall, to assess whether they were ready or not, many of the first years were staring at Willow, wonderingly, as if longing to ask why all of the teachers they had seen so far were acting so oddly around the solitary, red-haired adult in the midst.

"Are you retarded?" Several of the children gasped as someone spoke up, the question directed at Willow.

Shaking herself out of her meditation on the place, Willow looked around to find a small boy studying her. He wasn't staring at her as if she was a freak, but more as if she were a genuine curiousity. "Wh-what?"

"Are you retarded? Were you kept back? Is that why you're starting late?"

Willow shook her head. "N-no, actually. I was meant to start nine years ago." A nervous smile crossed her face. "They didn't know where I was...I-I was living on a Hellmouth so they couldn't find me."

"I know who _you_ are!" A tawny-skinned boy with glasses said, eagerly pushing his way forward. The red head was immediately reminded of Hermione's attitude in the first Harry Potter books. "I've read all about you! You're the missing Weasley!"

Gasps went up among the other pupils and Willow suddenly understood how Harry felt, when people reacted to his name. She could feel the burning blush rising in her cheeks as she nodded in assent.

"I-I-I prefer to be called Willow cos, hey! Not missing any more."

"You...you really lived on a Hellmouth?" A girl demanded.

"Was it scary?"

"Did you see demons?"

"Have you been bitten by a vampire?"

"Are you really dating a werewolf?"

Willow raised her hands, trying to fend off all the questions at once. "Whoa, whoa whoa! Hold on!" She pleaded, looking around at them. "Just plain, old, ordinary speak-one-line-at-a-time Willow here...I can answer questions, but one at a time."

They immediately all started to ask at once, again.

"Okay, yes, I lived on a Hellmouth and it was pretty scary, but not as scary as I heard Snape-guy here can be." A few giggles sounded from her audience, who apparently had heard all about the various teachers. "Yeah, I've seen a lot of demons...fought a few as well. I wasn't bitten, but some of my friends have been and yes, my boyfriend is a werewolf."

"Wicked." A small, dark-skinned boy whispered in awe.

"Actually, good. I'm not wicked...accidentally saw wicked, skanky vampire me once and..." She pulled a face. "Its not of the good and homely variety."

"Ahem." All faces turned back to the doorway, where McGonagall stood once again, an odd twinkle in her eyes. She smiled specifically at Willow, which was as scary as her stare. "We're ready for you now."


	23. Sorted!

SORTED

Notes: Yes, the famous Willow Weasley has come to Hogwarts. 

I did consider adding in an annoying little prick like Malfoy, to do a line like the one above, cos every school I've ever been to (and that's quite a few) seems to have at least one arrogant prat like him, but I think sticking with canon characters may be easier at the moment, especially with so much happening. I'd hate to have to do the big and full intro on anyone else atm.

And, also, if the description of the school and Great Hall sound very familiar to you, that's because I'm cheating, taking JKR's words and fiddling them a teeny bit. The Philosopher's Stone is my loyal companion at the moment and is all thumbed cos of me being all referential and such.

And onto the actual story, none of the characters of which are mine. 

All right, Leon Mzimba is, but he's not a major character. He's just a tribute to Lizo Mzimba of Newsround, who first brought Harry Potter to my attention (Thank you VERY much for giving me something else to drain my existence of time, Lizo :-P)

One day, I will do a lovely Mary-Sue walking straight into Snape's classroom and throwing him on the desk to have at him. And possibly bring Lucius in for the big fun. Needless to say, it won't be posted with this story, but ooh...the thought...

Although that does raise the question...which member of staff would Snape be likely to get action from? I mean, whooha! Stud muffin! Surely one of the other teachers has to be getting under that robe ;)

And I'll stop now cos I do actually want to get some of this written without frying myself by drooling on the keyboards.

Also, mini-tribute to Echo here - you're the one who got me thinking about some of things that will come to pass further into the series, thanks to 'A Drop In The Ocean' so I seriously hope you don't mind! Also, apologies for not commenting on the new chs. I only get online at the labs and they seem to have realised I don't like being kicked out when I'm reading, so they do it more than ever. As an apology for a lack in reviewage, here, have a little Willow/Snape-meeting-sort-of-thing in here, especially for you :) It's entirely your fault!

Also, as for the Willow-being-bitten - ACK! I haven't seen S4 for ages, so I completely forgot about that and plus - Harmony - I always forget she's meant to be an evil, scary vampire. Hmm. Wonder how I manage that ;) Will change it ASAP!

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The wave of voices from the Great Hall hit the first years as the huge door swung open, allowing Willow Weasley, and the rest of the first years, to have her first view of the massive chamber, her eyes immediately flicking upwards to see if the ceiling was really as amazing as it sounded.

It was.

Ho boy, it was!

High above them, the moon shone down on the proceedings, stars dotted across the dark sky. Only if you looked very, very closely at it and ignored the puffs of silvery cloud could you see the high gables of the arched roof.

Candles hung in this air, long, thin and white, flickering with warm light. Hundreds of welcoming faces smiled at them from the four rows of tables lining the long hall, between which, they had to walk down the full length of the Hall.

Her eyes moving from the carved stone walls, to the elaborate windows and back to the ceiling and those magic candles that were bobbing in the air, Willow had to be poked in the back by one of the children behind her, before she started to move forwards, at the head of the group, the rest of them split into pairs.

She was still staring wonderingly around her, as she walked down, trying to take in everything at once, barely even noticing the voices whispering to each other as she passed the long tables.

"You don't think..."

"Nah...couldn't be..." 

"Weasley...lost one..."

They came to a halt at the front of the hall, where a ragged, pointed hat sat on a three-legged stool. If you squinted at it, with your eyes half-closed, it really did look like it had a face.

The folds and creases moved, as the hall fell into silence and a tear along one side opened up. Lifting her eyes from the hat on the stool, Willow looked up towards the teacher's table, looking for familiar face, as the Sorting Hat began it's song. 

Hagrid immediately waved down at her. Next to him, Lupin gave her a nod and a laconic raise of an eyebrow, making her grin, her eyes moving onto the witch next to him, who looked like she had jumping beans in her skirt.

Hermione's face was alight and she was smiling broadly down at Willow, her hands clasped in front of her chest. She appeared to be willing to leap over the teacher's table to run down and hug Willow.

"We've got a surprise for you!" She mouthed to the red-haired witch. 

A prickle of nervousness ran down her neck. They weren't going to sabotage the Sorting Hat or anything, were they? Noticing her friend's look of apprehension, Hermione winked at her, still smiling as widely as ever.

Forcing herself to stop staring Hermione as if she suspected her to be mad and dangerous, she moved along the table, easily identifying Professor Flitwick, who was staring at her, wide-eyed, Professor Sprout and guessing on Professor Sinistra.

Another familiar face appeared in her line of sight and she doubled over, laughing out loud. 

Clad in robes of baby blue and rose pink velvet, a pink carnation pinned to his blue cap, as she had challenged him to wear at the Weasley's family dinner party weeks before, Professor Dumbledore gave her a nod of acknowledgement, the twinkle in his blue eyes more pronounced than ever.

Moving onwards, she stopped short at a face she had never seen before, but knew none-the-less. 

Professor Snape.

He looked just the same as he had in the description in the first of the books, his hair lank and greasy around his sallow face, his nose hooked and very Roman-like, but it wasn't as big as she expected, that was for sure.

For some reason, she had the image of him with a nose that took up almost all of his face, but no, there it was. All Roman and aquiline and currently flaring in the nostril region, which was very hard to miss, because they were very large nostrils.

She snickered, but it faded when she realised that - despite the fact that his eyes were half-closed - he was watching her.

Like the other teachers, he was studying her, but there was no emotion that she could see in his pale features, his black eyes locked onto her face. It was almost like he was taking her apart with those creepy, dark eyes.

Swallowing hard, she stared back at him.

He kept right on staring.

Willow pursed her lips, feeling annoyed, not even listening to the song that the hat was singing, applauding along with the rest, although she was still staring rudely back at Professor Snape.

As McGonagall started to read out the list of names, Willow put her hands on her hips, glaring at Snape. His upper lip curled up and one of his bushy, black eyebrows rose a little, as if challenging her to do something about the staring.

Now, _that _annoyed her!

No one challenged a Weasley and lived...well, yeah, they lived, but still...

Although she knew it was immature, Willow stuck out her tongue at him.

There was a snort of laughter from the other end of the table, which the Weasley girl knew was Hermione. She could also hear a low rumble, which suggested that Hagrid was watching as well.

Much to her surprise, the sneer on Snape's face vanished, an almost...amused look sliding onto his face. Amused? Snape?

She heard a ripple of laughter from further up the Great Hall, blushing. Apparently, because she was taller than most of her fellow first-year pupils, her antics hadn't gone unnoticed by the Senior pupils.

Clearing her throat, she turned back to the Sorting, to find Professor McGonagall regarding her, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Um..." She gave the teacher what she hoped was a helpless look, pointing at Snape. "He started it."

Unfortunately for Willow, the acoustics of the Hall carried her voice to every ear, even those who belonged to pupils who hadn't seen what was going on, and the whole Hall exploded with laughter.

Willow felt heat rising up her neck, her cheeks tingling and hot, and knew her face was probably as red as her hair. Grinning awkwardly, she waved around, before ducking her head and letting her hair cover her face.

"While I am sure that is a valid argument, Miss Weasley," Again a rush of whispers swept around the Hall at her name, but Professor McGonagall ignored them. "Please allow me to continue with the sorting, then you can pull faces at out staff to your heart's content."

Despite the severe tone in the serious witch's voice, there was a gleam of a smile in her green eyes, which made the youngest Weasley feel a little better, although no less embarrassed.

"Mzimba, Leon." The tawny-faced boy with round, black-framed glasses similar to her brother-in-law's, who had recognised her outside, darted forward and bounced down onto the stool with so much enthusiasm that Willow was astounded that it didn't shatter.

The hat was placed on his head and immediately called out Gryffindor.

McGonagall continued through the list of names, the hat sometimes calling out a house immediately, sometimes deliberating for a while, until it finally reached the names beginning with 'W'.

After 'Wallace, Percival', 'Wat, Alan' and 'Wazzock, Annie' - a tragic name for any child to bear - everyone in the hall sat upright as Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and read out clearly. "Weasley, Willow." 

"Ho boy..."

Nervously walking up to the tiny stool, Willow sat down carefully, in case the frail-looking little thing broke and she fell on her butt in front of everyone, which would just be embarrassing, especially since everyone was staring at her expectantly.

It didn't break, fortunately, although it did creak and shift a little.

Her stomach felt like it was skipping around inside her to a 70s disco beat, her palms sweating, her hands shaking by her sides as she started to lift her face.

Willow looked up in time to see a flash of McGonagall's face, a moment before the Sorting Hat was placed on her head, flopping down to cover her eyes and ears, all sound around her suddenly muffled.

"Well, well." A little voice murmured. "Another Weasley."

"Uh...yeah..."

The hat made a chuckling sound. "I thought we had seen the last of your family, but now, the final one to arrive is the bravest and proudest of them all." Willow made a meeping sound, blushing. "Don't be embarrassed. It's all here, in your head."

"It...it is?"

Again, there was the laughing sound ringing in both her ears. "You have it all, Weasley. Bravery, intelligence, wit with just enough stubbornness, pride, resourceful, strength, rebelliousness, a determination to prove yourself...a good deal like your sister...and..."

"Harry?"

"Ah yes, Mister Potter." There was a pause. "Like him, you have the will to break rules, if you think it necessary." Willow's ears were burning. "That isn't a bad trait, Weasley, if you remember that some rules must never be broken."

"Yeah, like interdimensional crossing spells which lead to evil, scary, skanky, horny kinda-gay vampire Willows who flirt with anything that moves and..." She heard the hat chuckling again and clapped her mouth shut.

"Interesting...very interesting..."

"You're not gonna put me in Slytherin, are you? Cos of the vampire Willow thing?"

"You could do well there, you know."

Willow scowled at the inside of the hat. "Don't you make me come after you with scissors, Mister!"

"Where would you prefer to go?"

"You said it was all there, inside my head. You tell me."

She thought she could feel amusement radiating from the hat into her mind, and possibly a touch of appreciation. "Very well. If you're another Weasley, I suppose you'll just have to be in..." She heard the voice shout out. "GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor tables erupted in shouts, cheers and a riot of foot-stamping and applauding as the famed eighth Weasley felt the hat get pulled off her head and got to her feet to go to her table.

"Welcome to the House, Weasley." Professor McGonagall muttered to her, barely audibly. Willow grinned, then bound down the steps to the table, where Leon Mzimba gave her a grin.

"I knew you would be in Gryffindor." He confided as Willow slid into the final seat at the table, beside him.

"Read about the family, huh?"

Leon grinned at her. "How did you know?"

"You look the type." She replied, winking, then looked up to the table at the head of the Hall, where the teachers had all assumed their seats, Professor McGonagall next to Professor Dumbledore.

Dumbledore rose to his feet, a silence falling over the hall again. "Once again, I would like to welcome you to a new year at Hogwarts and, before we begin the feast, I have a line or two to say to you."

Willow felt the laugh bubbling up inside her already, hoping that he would say it, just for the sake of amusement.

If he had done the clothing thing, how could he not say...

"I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts. Here they are a-standing in a row." He spread his hands with a smile, laughter rapidly spreading across the Great Hall, while a few pureblood wizards simply looked confused. "And now, the feast..."

Food appeared on the table, people immediately tucking in. 

Except Willow, who was practically on the floor, hysterically giggling, tears of mirth rolling down her face. A few of the other Gryffindors who were close enough to see were staring her as if she were quite mad.

Fortunately, she glanced towards the teacher's table, and saw two people who were having as much trouble keeping their faces straight: Lupin had a hand over his mouth and Hermione was hiding her face in Hagrid's jacket, her shoulders shaking. 

Apparently neither of them believed he would do or say it either, but he had! He had said it! He had actually said it! She had dared the Head Master and he and done and said everything he said he would!

Willow risked a quick glance up at him, clutching her sides that were aching with laughter, and found him smiling down at her, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief as the eighth Weasley finally gave into the forces of gravity and fell off the bench she was sitting on, still laughing.

That was the moment that the Gryffindors knew for a fact that she was as mad as her infamous family and they suddenly looked very happy.

It was going to be an interesting year.

***

"And the pink carnation!" Arm-in-arm with Hermione, having been caught by the Professor of Muggle-Studies straight after the feast, Willow and the brown-haired witch were both still giggling over Dumbledore's costume.

They were on their way towards the Gryffindor common room and Hermione was still refusing to tell Willow what the surprise was that she had mentioned just prior to the Sorting.

Passing by some of the Hufflepuffs on a stairway, Willow was briefly distracted by the incredible architecture as they ascended the flight of white marble stairs, the high roof rising into the spires and towers high above them in arches and alcoves.

Once again, she spotted the wizened witch, who had been staring at her from one of the paintings in the entrance Hall. Apparently, the witch was chasing them up the building, to keep track of her.

"Hermione," Patting Hermione's left arm with her left hand, she nodded towards the witch. "Can you tell her to stop stalking me?"

"Violet." Hermione tutted. "What are you doing?"

Peering around the edge of a gilded frame, the owners of the picture - a Knight and his lady - looking indignant that she was interrupting. Clearly embarrassed at being caught, Violet - the witch - studied Willow. "Is this her, then?" She asked, her voice shrill and a little breathless.

"If you mean the eighth Weasley, yes, Violet, this is her. Willow Weasley, this is our gossip-monger, Violet." The witch looked pleased at the commendation. "She makes sure that all the comings and goings in the castle are known by all the pictures."

"O...kay..." Willow nodded politely. "Can you kinda...stop following me now?"

"Of course! Just had to check if the rumours were true." Violet smiled broadly at her. "Must keep everyone up to date with what's happening you know. Pleasure to meet you, Miss Weasley!"

"Uh...you too..."

Hermione laughed at the expression on Willow's face. "Oh, she's not that bad, once you get used to her being here, there and everywhere." She said. "And she's a good friend of the Fat Lady."

"I'll take your word for it."

They continued down the hallways, talking animatedly, until they reached the painting of the Fat Lady, two large torches burning on either side of the picture, in which the plump lady in a pink silk dress smiled out at them.

"Ah, Miss Weasley."

"Lemme guess - Violet was here?"

The Fat lady chuckled. "Indeed she was. Now, perhaps I can have a password from both of you."

"Flibbertigibbet." Hermione said immediately. 

"What-itty-what-it?" Willow stared at her. "You expect me to remember that? I can't even remember how to pronounce half the names of things for my classes and I have to remember a word like that? And are you sure it's even a word and..." 

She was hauled back by the laughing Hermione, as the painting swung open to reveal a circular hole in the wall, the Fat Lady chuckling on the other side. "I can see we're going to have an interesting time with you." The Fat Lady called around to her.

Willow whimpered. "I dunno if I can do this." She said, looking up at the hole "I mean, I'm all older than they are and everything!"

"Oh come on!" Hermione braced her hands on the edge of circle, hoisting herself up and sliding into the tunnel, scrambling through to the other side easily. "I want to show you everything!"

Reluctantly, Willow followed her lead, dropping in an unladylike heap on the floor, when the end of the tunnel ended abruptly. Fortunately, though, the common room was empty, so no one saw her sprawled on her butt on the floor.

Grabbing Willow's hands, Hermione pulled her to her feet. "Come on, Willow!" She sounded strangely excited, even more so than Willow was. 

The red head was dragged to a gold and scarlet drape that hung on the wall, in front of a column of white marble, where Hermione - after checking that none of the other Gryffindors were about - pulled back the fabric.

"This way." She said, her eyes sparkling.

"Uh...Hermione...it's a pillar."

Hermione flashed her impish smile at Willow again. "Not quite." She said. "Say your name."

"Why?"

"Just say it!"

Hesitantly, feeling a little stupid, Willow leaned forwards and mumbled. "Willow Weasley."

A round brass knob emerged out of the stone, a line of a door appearing on the solid column. Hermione grasped it and pulled the door open, revealing a long staircase, spiralling upwards. "Well?"

"Huh?"

"Honestly! Willow, it's not difficult! There are stairs. We go up them! Come on!" 

Her hand catching Willow's again, Hermione started to run up the stairs, Willow following as quickly as she could, feeling too full and too sleepy to be taken on a bizarre trek around the castle.

The stairs went up several levels at least, ending on a landing with a single, dark, reddish-brown door with a brass handle. Hermione, her eyes shining eagerly, pushed Willow forwards. "Go on!" She urged. "It's your room."

"Mine...?" Cautiously, Willow turned the large handle and pushed the door open, to reveal a beautiful, surprisingly large round room, windows with cushioned window-seats all the way around the wood-panelled walls, draped with light curtains.

On either side of the room, a large double bed, four-poster bed stood, with red hangings, deep red blankets and white sheets and pillows, with the Hogwarts crest visible on them, even from where Willow was standing.

The carpet on the floor was thick and red and looked like you could sink up to your ankles in it and Willow was possessed by the strange urge to rip her shoes and socks off and do just that.

Her eyes continued around the room, to the matching desks on opposite sides of the room, near the beds. It was like there was one room and the other side was it's mirror image, which made her wonder...

"Why are there two beds?" She asked, turning to Hermione, who was bouncing on her toes, looking like she was about to explode with excitement, her eyes shining.

"I'm your room mate!"

"Omigod!" Squealing, they hugged each other, both bouncing up and down. The red head, one arm still around Hermione's waist, looked into the room, then at Hermione again. "How did this happen?" 

"Professor Dumbledore thought you might not want to stay with children, but that you wouldn't want to be on your own." Hermione explained. "So, he asked me if I would want to share the tower room with you."

"And you said yes!"

"Actually, no, but then he promised me a raise, so..."

Willow turned to look at her and saw the wicked gleam in Hermione's eyes, before they both starting laughing, then hugged each and squealed again. "Omigod! I have a roomie at Hogwarts! This is so cool!" 

"C'mon! You have to see the view from the windows! Its fabulous!" They stopped at the threshhold of the room, exchanging looks. As one, they kicked their shoes off and stepped into the room.

Just as Willow had expected, her feet sank into the thick, rich carpet, the warmth spreading through her from her toes, which she wiggled deeper into the soft mass, before hurrying across to the window.

"Wow..." She gasped, kneeling up in the window-seat and staring out across the moonlight-drenched grounds, her hands and face pressed against the cool glass, as she stared around.

"I know." Hermione whispered, sitting next to her. "It's amazing, isn't it?"

Willow nodded, speechless, as Hermione patted her on the knee. Even if she had been able to form words at that point, there were none that truly could expand on the sheer feeling of "holy moley!" she was experiencing.

She could see everything: the Quidditch pitch with the tall goalposts that looked like the bubble-sticks she used to play with Xander, the whomping Willow - the name made her giggle a little - the dark forest in the distance, Hagrid's hut, a warm light flickering in the window.

"Oh!" After several minutes of silence, Hermione scrambled to her feet and ran across to the left side of the room - which Willow thought was neat, because she had hoped she would get the opposite side - and dug into the chest of drawers there. 

"What is it?"

Withdrawing two items out of the drawer, Hermione returned to the window seat, as Willow turned fully to face her, leaving misty imprints of her hands, nose and forehead on the glass.

Sitting opposite the younger witch, Hermione looked a little dubious, but sighed. "I told Harry that I would pass these things on to you, although I can't imagine why you would want them."

A sheet of shimmering, silvery fabric was placed in the window box between them, then a scrap of old, rather tattered and dog-eared parchment was placed on top of it with a little less enthusiasm.

"This isn't..." Willow picked up the scrap, eagerly withdrawing her wand from the pocket of her robes and touched it to the parchment. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Immediately, lines started to appear, with the introduction that Willow recognised well from the third book in the series about her brother-in-law, a smile crossing her face at the names: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs.

"The Marauders Map." She whispered.

"Yes." Hermione sniffed. "I don't see why you would need such a thing."

"In case I need to find a hidden passage?"

Hermione's sniffy manner disappeared and she almost looked naughty. "Willow, we have one of the Marauders as a friend here. Why do you think we would need that filthy piece of scrap with him around?"

"I see your point." Willow returned the naughty grin, but she still tucked the map into her pocket after 'switching it off'. "I think I'll keep it anyway, since Harry sent it for me..." 

Her companion laughed. "I thought you might. And I suppose you'll be keeping the invisibility cloak as well?"

"I think I could force myself." Willow heaved a sigh. "With a bit of effort."

"Again, I thought as much." Hermione yawned, then covered her mouth looking a little embarrassed. "Um...sorry. I think I must be a little sleepy."

"Me too." Smothering a yawn herself, Willow reluctantly made herself get to her feet, the soft cushions on the window seat far too comfortable. She looked across the room at the right side. "That's my side, right?"

Hermione suddenly looked chagrined. "You don't mind, do you? It's just that I..."

"It's fine." Willow grinned. "I was hoping it would be my side." Wading through the thick carpet to the bed, she threw herself back on the mattress, bouncing where she fell. "They really like making things comfortable, don't they?"

"Of course! It's Hogwarts."

"So where's the bathroom? Is it comfortable?"

Hermione, digging her nightshirt out of her drawers looked up. "Well, we don't have a bathroom up here, but I'll show you it tomorrow. We have a toilet, though, with a wash basin and a shower."

"And you don't class that as a bathroom?"

The twinkle had returned to Hermione's eyes. "When you see the _bath_ room, you'll understand why I don't class the little rooms up here as bathrooms." She replied, stripping off her robes, down to her plain white underwear. "Oh and don't mind me. I have no shame."

Willow didn't know what was worse: the fact that Hermione was standing there in her skimpy underwear, showing off her figure that she kept hidden under her robes or the fact that she - Willow - was liking the fact that Hermione was standing there in her skimpy underwear, showing off her figure.

"Uh...nice set..." She managed to say faintly.

Hermione cast an impish look at her. "Are you talking about my breasts or my underwear?" The red head went scarlet and Hermione started laughing. "If there was one things those books didn't mention, it was that I adore teasing people."

"I'm starting to notice this." Willow started pulling the drapes shut around her bed, blushing furiously. Hermione just chuckled as she continued to change. 

"Good night, Willow." She called with mock-sweetness.

"Yeah." Willow yawned again. "Night!"


	24. Meanwhile

The Eighth Weasley 

The Eighth Weasley - Chapter Twenty-Four Meanwhile...

Notes: Resisting the urge to say 'back at the batcave', this is just a short and fairly dull filler chapter, which leads into the yummalicious plot that I have all detailed now. Did I mention that this is going to be a huge story? 

If not, it is - its going to be bleeding massive and I plan to try and post at least 4 chapters a week (Heck, they take me just over an hour to write (that's a tiny amount of time in my book) , so why not keep my readers happy?) :) I am also VERY keen to get to the main chapters, cos so much fun is coming up!

And, as usual, none of this is mine. Especially the Buffy aspect here. And apologies if this doesn't sound quite 'right' - I haven't seen S5 of Buffy for ages, so I kinda lose track of what exactly happened and who said what etc...

Also, I'm speeding up the content of what happened in general in S5, simply because I can't mix-and-match very well, plus the whole Willow/Tara witchy spin is missing for obvious reasons and I'm thinking Joyce is going to be diagnosed much earlier and not-die - just be a wee bitty sick (Note - that was a blatant Season 5 spoiler - oops too late. Spoiled it.), cos this is NOT an angsty story (Good Lord! I'm not writing angst! Someone just kill me now!)

On a slightly sidelined note, I've created a site where all my HP-crossover things will be archived as well from here on in - http://www.geocities.com/hpcrossover - just in case my account gets frozen again.

And now, onto the fic. And I apologise for Dawn if she doesn't sound like herself, but like I said, I haven't seen S5 in ages and I'm using my own 14-year-old sister as the model for this. And no animals/bird were harmed in the making of this fic - Mr. Gordo does, in fact, remain in one piece.

___________________________

The Key.

Her sister.

Huh?

Buffy was turning things over and over in her head, trying to make sense of what she had been told by the weird Monk-guy before he died. And the super-powerful Gucci-bitch who had kicked her ass. 

It was turning into a seriously weird month.

Sitting on her wide bed, she stretched with a wince, her body still healing the bruises and cuts that had been inflicted on her by firstly, psycho-blonde-super-bitch and second, by the building almost crushing her a few days before.

Carefully lying down on the bed, she grimaced as she stretched out on her back, the South Californian afternoon sunlight rippling in through the half-open curtains.

The Slayer sighed.

As if finding out that her sister wasn't really her sister but a ball of energy that was really a key to dangerous interdimensional portals and was being hunted down by a well-dressed, entirely insane psychopathic blonde wonder-woman wasn't difficult enough to come to terms with, there was the fact that her mom could have been seriously ill.

Joyce Summers had been having a lot of headaches of late. She had collapsed a few days earlier when making breakfast for Dawn in the kitchen, after remarking on her head hurting and had been rushed to hospital.

Scans and checks had been done right away. It had turned out to be a small tumour just inside her skull, but the doctors had operated immediately and removed the lump, which - after testing - had proved benign.

Buffy had never been more scared in her life, than when she had been taken in to the Doctor's office and told the news. Even though the tumour had been benign, the fact that her mother had been ill...

It was something that she - the Slayer and fighter of all things dark and deadly - couldn't fight against and that was what scared her the most.

They had kept their mother in for a day or two, then ordered her home to rest and recover, which she was doing presently, downstairs, lying on the couch with Dawn keeping her company and providing her with a running commentary on the soap operas they were watching on TV.

Unfortunately, the whole situation had been made a lot worse by the fact that - seconds before she collapsed - Joyce Summers had looked at her younger daughter and asked who she was.

Something about the affect of the tumour on her mind had gotten past the spell that was apparently on them and Joyce had known for a fact that Dawn Summers wasn't her true, biological daughter.

She had questioned Dawn's existence in front of her.

Not a good thing to do in front of a normal teenager, but a paranoid one...

Joyce hadn't meant any harm, though. She simply had been bemused by this strange girl she was seeing.

She had even asked Buffy what it meant, when Dawn had been out of the room at the hospital, but the Slayer had been unable to think of anything to say in response to the question.

Which brought the subject back to Dawn, now that mom was going to be all right.

Buffy was trying to understand it.

Her sister wasn't her sister.

Not really.

But she was!

Buffy could clearly remember the day that they had brought the newborn baby Dawn, complete with wrinkly red skin, a button nose and tiny wisps of dark hair, home from the hospital, she could remember watching her sister grow and become the annoying brat who currently made her life Hell.

She could remember the vacations they had taken as a family. She could remember hiding in her closet with Dawn, hugging her crying sister, when their parents were screaming at one another before they got to the stage of divorcing. 

She could remember everything!

Was it all created? 

Was everything she remembered about their family a lie? 

Had it all been made up for them by those monk-guys? If none of that had really happened to them, what had happened?

It wasn't just her and mom, though.

Giles, Xander and Anya could all remember her and in detail. They could remember her almost getting snatched by Angelus when she hadn't known he was no longer Angel. They could remember her getting Buffy in trouble. They _remembered_ her.

Willow could too. 

It was written right there in her last letter - 'give Dawn a noogie for me' - and she hadn't even been in Sunnydale, or even in America, when the spell was cast by those weird monk-y guys.

How could it all be made up?

Yeah, that spell she had done had shown her Dawn wasn't real, but she _felt_ real. She looked real and acted real and smelt real and really annoyed real well. There was no way she was just a figment of their manipulated minds.

Buffy closed her eyes. 

The Monk-guy had explained it, that Dawn was her sister, that the memories were shared by everyone involved, that - in spite of the fact that she was made of that supernatural energy - she was now human and now connected to the Slayer by the connection of blood.

They were sisters.

There could be no question of it.

No matter where Dawn had come from, no matter what she had been and why she had come to be, Buffy knew that - no matter how she tried - she wouldn't be able to see Dawn as anything other than a sister.

Her sister.

And she knew that she would give her life to protect Dawnie, even if she was the most annoying brat in the world at times.

A clatter from the window-sill made her jerk upright, grabbing for a stake, before she remembered it was daylight and released a sigh, turning to look at the window, where a barn owl perched on the window-ledge.

"Merlin!"

Willow's barn owl had a letter securely tied to his leg - Willow had explained in an earlier letter that the bird had decided that it was meant to fly over toilets and drop anything it was carrying down them, so she had resorted to tying all mail to the bird's legs - which Buffy snatched and opened.

An indignant hoot from the bird made her look around. 

"Oh! Right! Food!"

Letting the owl hop onto her hand, she got to her feet stiffly and walked down the stairs, glancing in on her mother, who was apparently asleep on the couch in spite of the television blaring at full volume, and her...

Huh?

Where was Dawn?

A clatter from the kitchen alerted her.

Holding onto both Merlin and the letter, the Slayer hurried through, to find Dawn scrambling down from a stool, onto the kitchen floor.

"What were you doing?" Buffy demanded, a little more sharply than she intended.

Dawn held up a jar of peanut butter. "Needed to get some peanut butter. I'm making mom a sandwich," she explained, moving to the island in the middle of the kitchen and to a sticky-looking... mess on the counter.

"A sandwich?" The blonde stared at the heap of bread, pickles, jelly, salami and blobs of ketchup and mustard as Dawn used a spoon to scoop peanut butter on top of it. "Dawn, I don't think mom would want that."

Licking her fingers, the slim brunette girl grinned. "Mom always eats everything I make her," she said proudly, squashing another slice of bread down on top of the gooey heap. "This is the Dawn-Day special." She stopped short at the sight of the bird on Buffy's arm. "Uh, Buffy, why do you have an owl?"

"Uh..." Sticking the owl-occupied arm behind her back hastily, Buffy tried to feign ignorance and ignore Merlin's indignant squawks and pecks that were being landed on her bare arm. "What owl?"

Only their close-knit group knew about Willow attending Hogwarts and they had thought it safer not to tell Dawn, especially since she had fallen in love with the Harry Potter books. 

It would definitely be a thing of the not good variety for a hyperactive teenage brat to learn that her favourite books were real. 

The accuracy of that assessment was only emphasised when her sister put two and two together. Owl = bird for delivering mail = stupidly unrealistic = therefore, could only possibly come from Harry Potter. 

It was so easy to follow the thought processes that Dawn went through.

Buffy started to count, to see just how long it would take. She reached five... 

"Omigod..." Her blue eyes grew enormous. "Omigod! It's like in Harry Potter!"

"No it's not!" Giving Merlin a firm shake behind her back, Buffy hissed in pain as he pecked on her finger. Hard.

"It SO is! Let me see it!" 

She tried to peer around Buffy, who was trying to back away towards the door and keep a grip of Merlin, without squashing him on purpose, although - if he pecked her again - she might 'accidentally' squeeze him a bit too hard.

"Dawn!" 

Fending her sister off, Buffy yelled as she tripped over one of the stools and fell to the floor hard, Merlin breaking free of her grip and swooping out of the kitchen with an indignant screech, while Dawn squealed with excitement.

"I knew it was an owl! I knew it!"

Sprawled on the floor, her bruised back feeling much worse than it had moments before, Buffy glared at her sister as she struggled back onto her feet. 

"Yes, Dawn, it was an owl," she said. "It flew in my window to bring me a letter from Hogheads."

Dawn assumed the standard sulk-pose that all teenagers seemed to have in-built in their brains, crossing her arms over her chest, chin down, mouth in a severe pout. 

"I don't care if you think Harry Potter is dumb," she scowled, grabbing the plate with the sandwich she had made for their mother. "I like it," She stormed past her sister, turning back to snippily say. "And anyway, its Hogwarts."

Heaving a sigh of relief, Buffy couldn't help grinning a little. 

Dawn so rarely believed anything Buffy said to her that she - on matter of stubborn teenage principal - didn't believe it when Buffy did actually give her an honest answer about what she was doing. 

Limping a little, her bruises aching again, Buffy opened the fridge, searching for something to give to Merlin, liberating the last of the salami that Dawn had left. 

She returned up the stairs, letter in hand, to her room, and stopped short, her mouth falling open at the sight of Merlin - sitting on the desk to the right of the door - pecking viciously as Mr. Gordo!

"Get off him!" she shrieked wildly, hurling the chunk of salami at the bird. No one, especially not Willow's maniac pet bird, was allowed to harm a thread on Mr. Gordo's stuffed-piggy body.

Merlin dodged the missile, then - picking it up - fluttered over to the bed and started pecking at it instead.

"Dumb bird," Buffy muttered, crossing the floor to sit down at the desk. She looked Mr. Gordo over, but there didn't seem to be any permanent damage, so she tore open the envelope and pulled out the letter from Willow.

***

Hi Buffy!

I just thought I would write to you before I leave for school, because I don't think I'm going to have much time when I get there. I leave for Hogwarts tomorrow and I'm really nervous now, especially since I've been to the stores to get all the stuff I need for my classes.

I hope everyone is all right and that there hasn't been too much slayage. I mean that you've been slaying a lot, but there hadn't been too much of it for you to do and that made so much more sense inside my head...

How is everyone? Ron told me to say hi to you (He still goes red whenever I mention your name. I think he like likes you!). Mom and dad are great and I've been meeting a whole lot of other people that are friends.

Oh my God! I have to tell you about friends of Harry's! I met Sirius Black, you know that guy Professor Dumbledore told us about? He is HOT! I mean whoa! I mean, not my kind of guy, but still...and he actually reminded me of Angel, because he was in a place called Azkaban and it's kinda like Hell. They have these demon-things that suck out happiness and make most of the people there go nuts, kinda like Angel was.

Hey! I just thought of something! Maybe Angel wasn't in Hell at all! Maybe he was in Azkaban! I mean, it would explain the crazies when he came back and the whole magic appearing-out-of-nowhere thing.

Ack! Babbling on paper now!

Anyway, there's another guy I met called Remus Lupin and he's really sweet. He reminds me of Oz. Maybe it's cos he's quiet or cos he has the whole werewolf thing going for him. I don't know, but he's so nice. I think he's my teacher in Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts.

OH! I met Hermione Granger!

She's kinda like the High-school-me of Hogwarts. At least that's what Ron thought, cos apparently she's really smart and she does lots of research all the time. She lived in the library at Hogwarts, like we did at High school.

I don't think they kept a werewolf in their library though. 

Mom just called! I better go now cos I have to finish packing for tomorrow. Give Xander and Dawnie a big hug each from me and give my love to Giles and tell Anya that Merlin is behaving well now.

Love, Willow.

P.S. You guys have to come and see me some time! I bet Professor Dumbledore could arrange it! Love you all!

***

Laying down the letter, Buffy sat back in her seat, staring blankly at the wall in front of her for a few minutes, her thoughts drifting back to the super-strong Gucci-ho who had almost beaten her.

If she was after the Key, Dawn, then Buffy knew she would be in trouble, if she didn't have magical back-up to help her fight and now that Willow was gone, she definitely didn't have nearly enough of that.

She looked down at the letter and the invitation, almost smiling at the thought of seeing her best friend again. It was times like this that she realised how much she missed Willow, when she was gone.

And by now, Willow would be at a boarding school for witches and wizards, with a whole lot of powerful witchy and wizardy teachers to protect her and it, which was always a good thing.

A thought crossed the Slayer's mind, making her brow wrinkle a little.

Then, she smiled. 

That was it. 

If the worst came to the worst with wonder-woman, she could always ask Willow if Dumbledore would be able to provide a helping hand and, if not, Dawn could always visit Hogwarts, to get her out of the way.

A blissful look crossed Buffy's face at the thought of even a day without her sister.

However, the moment was broken by a yell from downstairs.

"Buffy! Mom says you have to stop teasing me about Harry Potter!"

"Yes, Dawn." The Slayer muttered darkly, then snickered, wondering what her little sister would say if she knew that Buffy had met the infamous Harry Potter only a few weeks earlier.

Well, if she ever had to resort to telling Dawn about Hogwarts, Harry Potter, Willow being one of the Weasleys and the books being real, she knew that she would make the most of it as only a big sister knew how.

In the way that would annoy her little sister as much as possible.

The analogy of rubbing salt in an open wound came to mind for some reason.

A wicked grin crossed her face. 

She really didn't know why.

Really.


	25. Best Days?

The Eighth Weasley 

The Eighth Weasley - Chapter Twenty-Five Best Days?

Notes: Wheeha! By the time I get back into my fanfiction.net account, I'm going to be in flood mode! I have 2 chapters prior to this one to post, plus this one - it'll be done in an hour or so - plus one after this. Oh, and for the record, chapter 26 is my current favourite in the series. Still makes me snigger when I read it.

Also, I have the feeling that might be one of those semi-long sections, since I have a whole lot to cover, cos this is where Willow starts her lessons and *sniffs* makes a new fwend! How sweet. I can't believe I'm writing something in which no one has died within 20 pages. Gah. I feel dirty!

As usual, none of this is mine. If it was, I would be rich! Alas, I'm not, so I'm just highly amused. 

And sleepy. Can I mention the sleepiness? Tossing and turning for at least 2 hours from 2.30 til 4.30 and getting only 4 hours sleep...not one the things I recommend doing on a regular basis. And ick. I saw morning. I actually _saw_ morning. I looked out the window and saw weird pale light and was thinking 'huh? wassat?'! I'm a student, dammit! I'm not meant to be up before noon! I hate it when my body decides to wake me up for no reason...although the fact I was almost strangling in my blankets might have been a bit of a problem...

Anyway, enough of the babbling - some more glitches in the plot were smoothed out by my distinct lack in sleep last night, so maybe there was a reason behind it, and as soon as this chapter is done, I intend to work on an essay I have due in in 6 days. And I've been saying I'll start it for the last three days...yes. See the commitment to my education there. 

_____________________________

Willow stared at herself in the mirror that stood against the wall near her bed.

Yes she looked...like she was about to be sick with terror.

Swallowing hard, she brushed down her robes with shaking hands, hoping she didn't look as white and terrified as she thought she did. She glanced towards the door of the small bathroom she and Hermione shared. "Hermione?"

"Mmm-hmm?" The older witch stuck her head out of the door, her toothbrush stuck in her mouth, her other hand in the middle of brushing her uncontrollable mass of brown hair.

"So I, y'know, look all right?" Willow asked, her expression saying for the record that she thought she looked stupid, weird and lost, all rolled into one, much as she had felt for much of her life in the early High School years.

Waving with a brush that she would be through in a moment, Hermione ducked back into the bathroom to finish cleaning her teeth. 

When she hurried out, her long hair had been magiced back into a braid and she was wearing a scoop-necked cream blouse, with a light brown waistcoat and knee-length skirt, over which she would no doubt wear robes.

Making her way through the deep carpet to Willow, she gave the younger girl an affectionate look. "You look perfect." She said, gesturing for Willow to turn for her, so she could check every angle.

"I-I do?"

She was wearing the standard Hogwarts uniform: a heavy, grey skirt that reached her knees, knee-high white socks, a white shirt, the Gryffindor tie - which had been a regulation Hogwarts tie until she had been sorted - and grey sweater and the usual black robes, that hung to her ankles. 

Hermione reached up and straightened her tie for her. "You look fine, Willow. I promise." She said gently, stroking loose strands of red hair back from Willow's pale face with her thumb "Don't be so scared. No one wants you to do badly here."

"Except Snape."

The Professor of Muggle Studies snorted. "Well, he's an arrogant prat anyway."

"What?" Willow gaped at her. Hermione gave her a prim look. "Hermione! You called Snape a prat!"

The older witch's eyes danced. "And you know that I'm always honest in my opinions of people." She said, tucking the loose strands of hair behind Willow's ears with a smile. "Snape just happens to be a pompous twit with a knack for scaring anyone under the age of eighteen. And you."

"You make him sound harmless." Willow turned back to stare at her white-faced reflection in the mirror.

"He is harmless, Will." The Professor of Muggle Studies propped her chin on Willow's shoulder, studying the red head's reflection. "Someone once told me 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger' and Snape is definitely one of those things. He can't physically harm you, but he can make you tough enough to defend yourself if someone does try to."

"I'll bear that in mind when he starts picking on me." Willow mumbled, bunching a fist against her stomach to try to squish the butterflies currently doing a jazzed-up version of the rumba there.

Hermione just chuckled. "C'mon." She said, stepping back and going to get her shoes from under her bed. "We're going to be late for breakfast and if you miss that, you'll be off-track for the rest of the day."

"Big comfort." Willow moaned, grabbing her hefty canvas bag and swinging it onto her shoulder. "I'm just glad I don't have to fly until this afternoon. At least then, I won't barf my breakfast all over everyone."

"You have such a...graphic way with words." Hermione chuckled, fastening her shoes and straightening up. Snatching her own bag and robes, she joined Willow at the door that led down to the Gryffindor common room. "Shall we?"

"Do we have to?"

"Yes!"

***

"Good morning, everyone."

Professor Lupin greeted them, as the first years filed into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, his pale eyes catching Willow's and he gave her a tiny yet hugely comforting smile.

He looked a little tired and Willow realised that only a couple of nights before they had come to Hogwarts, he must have been going through a stage of wolfiness. After all, the previous night was when the full moon was waning.

Part of her wanted to hug him, like she did Oz, when he came out of the wolfy state, looking so tired, but she knew that probably wasn't the best way to start her Defence Against the Dark Arts classes.

Making her way to the back, she sat unobtrusively in the last row, making sure to stay out of the way of all the scary, small and powerful younger pupils, who were starting to intimidate her a whole lot.

"As you all know," Perching on front edge of the desk, Lupin looked around at the fascinated faces staring up at him. "This class is where you will learn to defend yourself against the dark arts and creatures that are associated with them. Now, this class is very lucky to have someone who has actually lived through an experience in a Dark Arts-centred area."

Huh?

Willow looked around the room. 

There was someone here who had been somewhere dark and oogy like she had...oh God! He was talking about her and looking at her with a very naughty look in his pale eyes and oh God!

"Miss Willow Weasley, the red-haired lady at the back of the class," Oh, she was SO gonna kill him! She was gonna kill him good! "Lived on a Hellmouth for eighteen years. Now, do any of you know what a Hellmouth is?"

A small brown hand shot up.

Leon Mzimba.

"Leon?"

"Yes, Professor." The boy answered eagerly. "A Hellmouth is a centre of mystical convergence, where all the powers are centralised over a certain point, which is often regarded to be an opening onto Hell."

"A very well-worded definition, Leon. Five points to Gryffindor." Lupin's eyes drifted around the class. "As Leon clearly said, the Hellmouth is viewed as a virtual doorway onto Hell. Can anyone tell us what the main populace of a Hellmouth is?"

Again, Leon's hand shot up, followed by a couple of others.

"D-demons, Sir?" Annie Wazzock said carefully.

"Very good, Annie. Yes. While most muggles believe that they are alone on earth, Hellmouths are hot-spots for demon activity and there are often more demons than muggles in habitation there." He raised his twinkling eyes to Willow, who was scarlet and glaring at him. "Now, perhaps Miss Weasley might come down to the front and tell us of a few of dark creatures she has faced."

"No she might not." She muttered under her breath, but still pushed her chair out with unnecessary force and stomped all the way to the front of the classroom, where Lupin gave her a raise of an eyebrow. "Prat." She hissed at him.

"Witch." He returned in a low voice, actually making her giggle. "So, Miss Weasley, you inhabited a Hellmouth. Can you tell us a little about what that was like and a little of your experiences there?"

She wanted to say 'No!' and run to the back of the class and hide behind her huge bag. She wanted to stick her tongue out at him and sulk. She wanted to do anything but sit and talk about demony things.

But then, she found she was talking.

Ho boy, was she talking!

A lot.

And lots of quills were scratching on parchment, making notes.

She started, without even noticing, about how her powers had been harder to control there, as if there was some kind of opposing force trying to prevent her from doing spells and things, so every spell was a struggle. 

Then, she moved onto the various oogy creatures of the night that she had had the misfortune of coming across: vampires, werewolves, Mayor-snake-demon-thing which had made Graduation so much more memorable, Kung-fu ninja-psycho demon-chicks who wanted to end the world, horny-demon-guys who wanted to end the world, other strange demons that wanted to end the world - she was really starting to see a running theme there - Hyena demons, the Bezoar, zombies, the Inca mummy girl.

'Oooooh's and 'Aaaaaah's punctuated her words, along with the scribbling scratch of quills on parchment, wide-eyed faces staring up at her when she went into greater depths about certain creatures, especially the vampires.

Everyone always seemed to want to know about the vampires.

"You got bit?" A nervous little blonde girl from Ravenclaw squeaked.

"Not too badly." Willow admitted, her hand rising to her neck at the memory of Harmony aiming to bite and almost missing. Looking back on it, it was kinda funny to think about. "Although, there was this time that Spike, he was a really mean vampire, came to my dorm..."

She detailed how he had told her he was going to kill her, then had tackled her, pinning her down on the bed: How she had felt his fangs on her throat, how she had seen her life flashing in front of her eyes, how it felt like her heart was about to explode through her chest.

"Ooooooooh!" The class were staring at her wonderingly. 

"How did you get away from him?" Professor Lupin was the one who actually asked the question. He was still leaning against the desk and he looked absolutely fascinated by her storytelling.

Willow shrugged. "It's not very exciting. He had a chip-thing in his head...a kind of muggly machine thing and it stopped him from hurting people, so when he tried to bite me, all he got was brain-fried. I hit him on the head with a lamp and ran away."

"Wow..."

Willow could feel a surge of embarrassment rising up her face in a red wave. "Um... yeah," She mumbled, shooting a dark look at Lupin for dragging her up in the first place. "So that's the boring life of Willow Weasley, lamp-breaker extraordinaire."

She had never been more relieved in her life than when the deep reverberating 'bong' of the bell signified that it was the end of the class, giving the chuckling Lupin one more dark look, as she fled from the class.

***

"So how did it go?"

Sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table, nearest the teacher's table, Willow looked up to find Hermione standing over her, smirking. "You knew he was gonna embarrass me, didn't you?" She pointed a ketchup-stained knife at the other witch.

"What on earth gives you that idea?" Hermione's eyes went round and innocent.

"Huh." Turning back to her chicken and vegetables, Willow glowered a little more.

Hermione just smiled and turned to walk towards the staff table, pausing as she mounted the first step. "Oh, I was wondering if you'd want to walk me to Muggle-studies after lunch. I have your class."

Jabbing a squashy lump of potato with her fork, Willow shot a glare of mock-annoyance at Hermione. "Sure. I guess I can do that," Her fork came up and pointed at the Professor. "But if you tell me we have to hold hands and walk in pairs...I'm not falling for that again!"

"Drat! You foiled my evil plot!" Laughing, Hermione continued up to the table, where she slid into a seat beside Lupin, who was watching them banter, a small smile on his face.

***

If the youngest Weasley thought she had been embarrassed in Lupin's class, it was nothing compared to what happened in Hermione's class, where only the impish smile of the Professor prevented her from stomping out.

It had started out well enough, with the Professor asking how many of them were muggle-borns and how many were first and second generation wizarding families, then she had - pointedly staring at Willow - asked if there was anyone who had been in a different position.

It had just gone downhill from there.

As she had done with Lupin, she had ended up talking about everyday life on the Hellmouth and the interesting uses that totally normal items could be put to, which became ridiculous.

Once more, she was glad when she could flee the class, her classmates still wanting to ask more of this strange yet totally fascinating wizarding-born, muggle-raised, wandless-wonder-witch.

However, it was only when she realised that she had a flying lesson that she slowed her pace, suddenly wishing she could run back to the dormitory to hide under her four poster bed.

It wasn't that she was afraid of flying.

It was more that she was terrified of not flying.

Of crashing.

After all, she still didn't have control of her wand, so how in the heck was she meant to make a broomstick do what she wanted?

"You all right?" A young voice asked beside her and she looked down to find the Leon Mzimba looking up at her as she walked towards the grassy lawn. He looked as nauseous as she felt, his face ghostly.

"Mmm." She whimpered at the sight of two rows of broomsticks lying on the grass and heard Leon do the same. "You?"

"I-I-I-I'm sc-scared of h-heights." He mumbled, staring fitfully at the broomsticks.

"Don't worry." Giving him a comforting smile - or at least what she hoped was a comforting smile - Willow nodded to two brooms that were side by side. "We probably won't go high, since it's our first time."

"Y-y-you think so?"

"Mmm." She hummed non-commitedly.

They took the last two brooms, looking down the line of other Gryffindors with clear unease at their flying instructor, Madam Hooch. The woman was smiling around at them, her grey hair standing up all over the place, her yellow eyes reminding Willow of Merlin's.

"Welcome to your first flying lesson." She said, her eerie eyes lingering on Willow briefly, before she launched into the speech about taking up positions and motioned for them all to summon their brooms to their hands.

Much to Willow's shock, her leapt straight to her hand, almost carrying her straight up into the air with the force of it. Around her, a few other people had their brooms in their hand, but Leon's was lying at his feet, shuddering.

"I don't think it likes me." He mumbled, punching his glasses up his nose.

Minutes later, when everyone finally had their broomsticks in their hands, Madam Hooch excitedly showed them how to mount and grip the broom, to prevent any of them slipping off in flight.

"Good...good..." She checked each of them. "Now, I want you to kick off a little way from the ground, hover for a few moments, then tip the broom forward slightly and come back to land. On my whistle..."

Nervous looks were exchanged, then the whistle blew.

Leon shot off like a bullet out of a gun and Willow found herself horribly reminded of what had happened to Neville Longbottom so many years ago, her voice rising with the rest of the classes, to call out.

The broom angled itself upwards, sweeping up the side of one of the towers, the skinny little boy wrapping arms and legs around it, his face going grey as he was carried higher and higher.

"He's going to fall!" A girl shrieked, pointing.

It certainly looked like it!

Leon's dark face was the colour of dishwater, and he was visibly shaking. Although they weren't close enough to see for sure, Willow was convinced that his eyes were rolling. If his phobia of heights was anything like hers of frogs...

Suddenly, he just seemed to lose his grip.

The broom kept moving, but he slipped off, falling at horrendous speed toward the spiked, gargoyle-like decorations that edged the roof of the tower.

The girls in the class were screaming in panic, Madam Hooch kicking off from the ground on a broom, her expression fraught and desperate, but Willow could see that even at the speed she was flying at, she wouldn't reach the boy in time.

Running forward, the red-haired witch stretched her arms upwards, focussing her mind on the boy, forcing her thoughts to become two immense hands that could move the air and catch him.

"_DECELERANDO_!" She screamed out.

Her eyes were pressed tightly shut, but she could feel him, through the air.

She heard gasps and cries of astonishment around her, carefully opening her eyes to see Leon bobbing in the air, barely inches from the spikes on the tower, his head lolling limply, his glasses hanging off one ear. 

Panting with the effort of holding his dead-weight up, she mentally steered him away from the tower, towards the air over the middle of the lawn and slowly brought the boy's body towards the ground.

Running forward, she caught him around the middle and released her spell, dropping to her knees, the boy's body heavier than she expected, flopping like a limp noodle in her arms.

Madam Hooch landed lightly beside her, staring at the young witch. Her face was white and she looked like she had seen some kind of ghost. "How...?"

"Huh?"

"You levitated the boy without a wand."

"Oh...right...that. It's no big deal." Willow gently shook Leon, who was still a funny shade of grey. "Leon? Leon, can you hear me?" Shuddering violently, the boy's dark chocolate coloured eyes opened, strangely glassy. "Thank God! You're alive!"

"High..." He whispered, shivering in her arms. "So...high...couldn't hold on..."

A loud snap made them both jump, looking up. Madam Hooch bent and shoved a large chunk of chocolate into the boy's mouth, as well as chewing on a bit herself, her face white.

"Eat." She ordered in a shaking voice.

Leon didn't seem to have the energy to do anything but lie limply in Willow's arms and let the chocolate melt in his mouth, shivers still running through him, as the red-haired witch held him and carefully put his glasses back on straight.

The rest of the class were standing in silence, staring at the three in the middle of the lawn, but - most particularly - at Willow.

That was definitely not what they had been expecting from their first flying lessons.

Yes, they had expected someone to do the accident-prone thing and fly off out of control, but they never imagined that one of their number would almost get himself killed, only to be saved by some kind of freaky superwitch who could do charms without a wand.

"Should we take him to Madam Pomfrey?" Willow asked, when she was still sitting there, several minutes later.

Madam Hooch, still very pale in the face nodded. "Yes...yes...that might be a good idea...I'll do that right away..." She pulled out a wand giving Willow another cautious look, as if she suspected her to be dangerous.

"You're gonna be okay, Leon." The red head whispered reassuringly to the boy, as madam Hooch conjured up a stretcher and she and Willow both helped the shaking boy onto it.

"Musta looked...stupid..." He croaked, not releasing her hand.

Willow stroked his cheek. "Not at all," She said, smiling. "You were the only kid in the class who flew without a broomstick."

"I did?" He smiled shyly back at her. "Nifty..."

"Come on, young man," Madam Hooch sent the stretcher in the direction of the medical wing with a wave of her wand. "The rest of you, class is dismissed." She said loudly. "Be sure to pack away the brooms in the right racks. Weasley," Willow looked at her nervously. "Thank you."

***

"Good day?"

Willow, lying on her bed, reading up on some spells she would be doing in charms the next morning, looked up at Hermione, who had just entered their room, heaped down with armfuls of scrolls.

"I think weird describes it better." She answered, laying the book down. 

"Hmm?"

The red head shrugged. "Well, you and Remus decided to embarrass me, which I can deal with kind of," Hermione snickered. "Then Leon, that cute little first year guy, almost gets himself killed an suddenly, everyone in my years is staring at me like I'm some kind of superhero for stopping him from falling on a tower."

"Um...could you give that to me once more?" The Professor of Muggle Studies turned to face her fully. "What's this about Leon and falling on a tower?"

"So it's not around the school yet? Oh good!" Willow hastily explained about the runaway broom, the falling boy, the spell, saving him, then the looks on the faces of her classmates. "And Madam Hooch looked like she was going to have a heart attack right there and then!"

"It's the wandless magic thing that surprises people." Hermione said. "Most people simply don't have enough power inside them to do spells that way. That's why we use wands - they're like a magical battery for us. You have your own built-in battery as well as a wand."

"So when I use my wand...?"

A pensive look crossed Hermione's face. "Either you'll be able to do the spells much more easily than everyone else..."

"Or...?"

Hermione gave her a helpless look. "Or you could blow the whole school to pieces with your power combining with the power of your wand." Willow blanched. "Oh, don't worry. I'm sure Professor Dumbledore'll understand."

Willow could just manage to make a sound that sounded remotely like 'eep!'.


	26. Toil & Trouble

The Eighth Weasley 

The Eighth Weasley - Chapter Twenty-Six Toil & Trouble

Notes: Its 1.15am. Its cold. I'm sleepy. And yet, for the fifth night in a row, I find myself inspired to write this bloody fic! Hopefully, the chapters before this one'll be done soon, cos I wanna post it, but - unfortunately - I need to do some cross-checking for 24, before it can be posted. Mind you, by the time you're reading this, 24 will have been posted, so there's really not much point going into this babble-fest, so I'll stop now.

And just add that Whedon is a genius. Once More With Feeling = brilliant CD. And all the characters contained herein who don't belong to him, belong to J. K. Rowling and definitely not to me.

And yes, Echo, we're finally at the scene you've been wanting to see :)

___________________________

Willow had never been more terrified in her life.

Hellmouths opening and in need of her to close them she could deal with. Newly-risen vampires to be staked - not a problem. Werewolfy boyfriends charging at her with the intention of ripping her throat out, easy!

Today, though...

Her timetable had been arranged so that she would be able to attend some classes with the first years, especially for Transfiguration, in which she needed to learn the basics, and thanks to a clash, she had missed her first potions lesson with the rest of the beginners. 

So now, instead of being in with the rest of the first years - they had been in potions and she had been given additional private lessons in charms, so she could actually use her wand properly - she was having a one-on-one tutorial.

One-on-one with Snape, he of the notorious reputation.

Willow could feel what colour she had seeping from her features at the thought of being in a room alone with the man who seemed to do nothing but gaze at her in a way that made her feel like a rat on a table for dissection.

Yes, Hermione insisted that Snape wasn't as bad as he pretended to be with the glaring and ominous whispers, but that was all very well for a top grade student, who had had a group of classmates to back her up.

Her roommate had conveniently forgotten that Willow would be in the creepy class in the dungeon, on her own with the Professor, with no friends or people to back her up or whisper the solutions to her.

Standing in the dark hallway outside the potions room, Willow whimpered, her arms laden down with all her supplies, which she had brought just in case she needed all or any of them.

Even the hallway was creepy.

A few flickering torches shone on the bleak black columns, but for the most part, they just served to make the shadows look even darker and gloomier.

Reluctantly, she raised a shaking hand and tapped on the door with her knuckles, a gusty draught whipping her robes around her legs. She shivered, not liking the fact that the dungeons were so cold.

How could they be so cold, she wondered, when people always had fires under their cauldrons down here?

She was still glancing around the quiet, dark and draughty hallway, pondering on the origins of the chilly wind, when the door swung open and - unconsciously - she took a nervous step back. 

He loomed over her, head and shoulders taller than she was, his face expressionless and pale, his black eyes glittering. One hand braced against the doorframe, his robes spread around him making him look so much more imposing and terrifying up close than he had during the Sorting.

"Ah," She could hear the sneer, even though the backlighting almost concealed the curling of his upper lip. "The famous lost Weasley." Sweeping back into the room, he didn't even look back to check that she was following.

She took the chance to glance around the dungeon and yes, it was as scary as she had been prepared to expect. 

The roof was not nearly as high as roofs elsewhere in the castle and it was arched in a very Gothic style. There were only a few narrow windows at the very top of the furthest wall, which hardly allowed any light in.

Dull lamps hung randomly along the ceiling, most of them glowing a very dull yellowish colour, hardly adding any light to the dim afternoon light ebbing through the windows.

Snape was sweeping past four rows of desks that crossed the room from left to right, each one occupied by a small wooden stool. Every one of the dark wooden desks was empty now, except the one at the very front of the room, a few paces from the teacher's desk.

"It is reassuring to see you didn't manage to get yourself lost again, as you so efficiently did, when you were scheduled to have a potions class last week." His voice was a low murmur that reminded her of the sound of a cauldron simmering with the possibility of coming to the boil at any moment.

"Um...I-I-I..." Stumbling after him, her robes catching on her legs as she tried to keep a hold of her bag and shut the door at the same time, she turned around to find those eerie black eyes on her face again. "I...uh...I..."

"How very eloquent you are." His hand unfurled in the direction of the table at the front of the class. "Now, if you wouldn't mind, I don't have all day while you stand there mumbling."

"I-I-I had to do ex-extra charms stuff." She muttered, making her way nervously forwards to the table he had indicated, where a single plain cauldron the same size as her own one stood, a green flame flickering beneath it. Snape's eyes suggested whatever excuse she was about to make wouldn't be anywhere near good enough for him. "They... I mean, Professor McGonagall...she said...I mean, I would have come with the rest of them but they thought that I..."

"Miss Weasley," His voice was that notorious, barely-audible whisper she had heard so much about. "I would greatly appreciate if you would be silent, as much of a challenge as you may find it."

"Sure...I can be quiet. I mean, yeah. I was always quiet at high school and it said so on every report..." She trailed into silence at a look from Snape, tipping the contents of her arms onto the desk. He glanced at it, a brow rising in a silent question. "Oh! I didn't know what to bring, so I just brought everything so I..." Her expression was one of anguished unease. "Um...is that wrong?"

"What might _this _be?" One hand lifted her cauldron out of the pile of bottles and bags, studying it with a smirk on his lips. "My, my, Miss Weasley. You certainly have extravagant taste. Such...crass decoration." 

Willow felt a prickle of anger, her cheeks burning with embarrassment and irritation combined. "Well, then it's a good thing that it's _my_ crass cauldron." She said defiantly, grabbing it off him, then mentally whimpering that he might take a hundred points from Gryffindor or something.

He did no such thing.

That frightening eyebrow rose again and he motioned to the desk. "Provide a flame if you will."

"Huh?"

"Miss Weasley," He murmured. "I heard such praises sang about your intelligence. I am afraid you are proving a great disappointment. You require a flame for your cauldron and I wish to see you provide one."

"O-oh!" 

Her hand over the desk, she whispered the incantation for the conjuring of flame that she had first learned when she was seventeen, leaving a small, flickering ball of flame hovering above the counter, looking up nervously at Snape. 

There was a note of defiant pride in her voice when she withdrew her hand. "There!"

"Very good, Miss Weasley. However, you did not use your wand." The right side of his mouth lifted in a smirk and she had the odd urge to smack him on the head with her cauldron. "Do it correctly, with your wand."

"But I..."

"I said," His voice was calm, quiet, like it had been before, but it was that cold calmness that made her feel uneasy. His arms were crossed over his chest, his expression deadly. "Do it correctly. With your wand."

Grabbing her wand from the pocket of her robes, she dissipated the ball of flame with a gesture - not noticing the admiring look in Snape's eye at the wandless display of spell-casting - and pointed the wand.

"_Inflammare_!"

The whole table erupted in flames.

With a squeak of fright, she hastily used a wandless spell that she was more familiar with to send a surge of water down onto it, smoke and steam hissing and sizzling in the already-stuffy air of the dungeon.

As the smoke and steam cleared, Willow coughing, she found him standing where he had been before the desk decided to burn, his expression exactly the same, his arms still crossed over his chest.

When she finally stopped coughing, there was a long moment's silence.

Then, he quietly spoke three words in a tone of voice that made the witch want the floor to swallow her up, heat burning in her face as she stared at the desktop in pained embarrassment.

"How very...impressive."

***

"Once again, Miss Weasley, your over-inflated reputation is proving flawed."

Willow really, really wanted to throw something at the Snape's head. A hard, blunt something, with enough force to knock him unconscious so she could flee from the class and the humiliation.

"I added the shredded dandelions in like you said!" She protested, looking across the desk, but finding no one there and turning slightly, to find a hook-nosed face barely inches from her own.

With a yip of fright, she hastily turned her eyes back to the cauldron, wishing for the hundredth time that he would stay still.

Snape was hovering around her and had been since she had started to try and brew their first potion. 

It was horribly disconcerting. One moment, he would be on the opposite side of the desk and out of reach, the next, he would be hissing remarks directly into her ear from right behind her.

It was also really starting to annoy her and she knew that if he didn't stop irritating her, she was really going to...

Well, she couldn't quite think of anything bad enough, but oh! 

He was gonna get it!

"Yes, obviously." His voice was dry as he looked at the cauldron which was full and overflowing onto the blackened desktop. "You have an uncanny gift for adding far too much of everything required to your potions. What a generous person you are, Miss Weasley." His voice was a chilly breath in her ear and she shuddered, scowling. "How very...special."

The overflow of gloop had come from Willow jumping with fright whenever he had hissed an instruction in her ear, making her spill handfuls of various items into the small cauldron she was working with.

"If you'd stop being all breathe-down-the-back-of-my-robes-creepy-stalker-guy and distracting me, I wouldn't make so many mistakes!" She exclaimed in aggravation, whipping around to glare at him. "Go and stand somewhere that isn't near my neck!"

"Did you just...give me and order, Miss Weasley?"

Normally, rational-Willow would step in at this point, but rational-Willow was as wound up as cranky-Willow and when rational-Willow was no longer rational, there was a big problem in state of Willow-land.

"You bet I gave you an order, Mister!" She tapped him smartly in the middle of his chest. "Maybe you find all that lurking and looming and breathing on my neck all intimidating or sexy or something," Her words were punctuated with repeated jabs to his breastbone. "But the last time someone did that to me, I staked them with a number two pencil, so don't you try and-and-and be all scary, Mister! I have no fear!"

That was when rational-Willow came charging back to the fore and Willow gave an anguished whimper, staring up at Snape and hoping fervently that he wouldn't do something too nasty to her.

Snape was gazing down at her with those creepy dark eyes. His expression hadn't changed in the slightest, but she could sense - whoa! That couldn't be right, could it? - amusement rippling off him. 

"Is that so, Miss Weasley?"

"It-it is!" She squeaked vehemently. "And...and..." She tried to think up something suitably scary and intimidating to do to him.

Again, that annoying eyebrow rose. "And what, Miss Weasley? You'll point and stammer at me? How very terrifying." He said, his lip curling again. "You ought to know that I have had Hufflepuff first years with more technical skill than you, although I must admit you do stammer as well as the best of them."

Willow was sure she felt something snap in her head and she pulled herself up to her full five foot three inches, her green eyes narrowing, her lips pursing, as she drew an angry breath and huffed it out again.

"Don't you curl your lip at me and sneer at me, Mister-I'm-all-dark-and-loomy-in-my-dungeon!" She wagged a finger in front of his face as rational-Willow backed back into her quiet corner, twitching in a heap. "From the minute that I got in here, you've been picking on me, even if there's no one to pick on me in front of and I don't think you're being fair on me, cos hello! Lived on a Hellmouth and don't know how things work! You're meant to be all helpy and stuff and showing me how I do things, not calling me names and insulting everything I do cos...cos that's not what teachers are for!"

"Miss Weasley, you are being rather outspoken. It's obvious your mother never put much stock in manners."

Willow gaped at him. She expected more of a reaction than that. And she had no manners? This was classed as rude? 

"Don't you dare say that about my mom!" She cried out as she poked his chest again with one small finger, her eyes flashing with annoyance. "I'm SO not rude! You were the one who was being all rude and intimidating and loomy and-and-and I haven't done this before and it's unfair that you think I should know how to do everything and you don't even bother to tell me what I'm doing wrong and you breathe down my neck and-and-and make me drop stuff and burn stuff and now look!" She huffed an angry breath out her nose. "You've made me all cranky and I really wanna be able to-to-to..." Fishing around for want of a better word, she pointed an angry white finger at him. "Poof you!"

The raising of the brow once more suggested she could have come up with a better threat. After all 'thump-poof' probably only really made sense to someone who had been in the Scoobies and Snape had definitely never been one of them.

"Poof me?" He inquired, doing that slow crossing-of-arms thing that she was told he did when he was getting angry, his voice not giving anything away, although she was still getting that odd sensation of mirth from him.

Taking a nervous step back, her butt colliding with the edge of the desk, she blinked up at him. "Uh...yeah...poof you..."

"Miss Weasley," He was still gazing down at her with that odd glitter in his black eyes. "Judging on your abysmal performance this afternoon, I sincerely doubt your abilities to tamper with my sexual preference."

"Eep!" The squeak came out both audibly and mentally, the youngest Weasley going beet-red, as she suddenly remembered why she was told never to mention the 'p' word while at Hogwarts. "That's not what I meant!"

Much to her surprise, what looked like an actual, genuine, amused smile crept onto Snape's lips. "Indeed," was all he said, before sweeping back around to the other side of the desk.

When he turned back to face her on the opposite side of charred desk, the smile had gone, replaced with the smirk she was more familiar with and she felt a tiny bit reassured by it. 

Reassured by him smirking instead of smiling...

Now that was just wiggy.

***

The immense doors of the Great Hall swung open and crashed against the wall with unnecessary force, every eye of every student and most of the teachers turning to see what all the fuss was about.

After all, meal times usually proved to be entertaining.

This time looked to be no exception.

Several of the Gryffindors knelt up on their seats, craning up, trying to see beyond the Hufflepuff table, whispers passing down the tables about just what was going on and who was at the doors.

Willow Weasley was stomping determinedly down the central aisle towards the teachers table, between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables, her expression on her face only describable as a 'resolve' face.

Her lips were pursed, small wrinkles of determination visible on her forehead, her hands balled in clenched fists by her sides.

Her black robes were singed and splattered with various substances, her long sleeves of her black robes, grey sweater and white shirt all rolled up over her elbows, the front sections of her hair pulled up in a scruffy ponytail on the top of her head.

At the teacher's table, some of the students noticed Snape sit up a little, a smirk coming onto his lips. Professor Granger also shifted in her seat, glancing from Willow to Snape and back, a look of worry on her face.

She knew that Willow hadn't returned from her Potions class, which she had been at from two o'clock that morning - nearly five hours earlier - and, when she had hunted down and confronted Snape in the staff room, asking where Willow was, he had just smirked and strolled away.

Something suggested that she was about to find out just what had been going on.

Ignoring all the eyes on her, although her face had flushed a deep scarlet, which suggested that she knew she was being observed, Willow resolutely stalked down the length of the room, her chin raised proudly.

Professor Dumbledore looked like he was torn between standing up and asking what was troubling her or falling off his seat laughing at the determined expression on the girl's face.

It seemed like an eternity before she reached the head table, where all the teachers sat and stomped along the length of it, her eyes fixed on Snape in a blatant glare. He leaned back in his seat, still smirking.

Whispers and gasps were passing along the tables, the Gryffindor table in particular.

To see the eighth Weasley willingly going to face off with Professor Snape, the most frightening and intimidating teacher at Hogwarts was definitely not what they had expected as entertainment for the evening meal.

They weren't exactly going to turn down the chance to witness it, though.

When the youngest Weasley stopped directly in front of the Potions Master, a silence fell, so deep that you could have heard a pin drop, everyone in the Hall wondering just what was going on.

"Miss Weasley." Every single person present heard the lazy whisper.

Willow's hand plunged into the large canvas bag hanging from her right shoulder and several people rose up from their seats, clearly expecting her to curse him or something equally exciting!

However, her hand emerged holding a small selection of bottles.

"Shrinking potion." She put a clear bottle containing an acid green substance on the table in front of him. "Cure for boils." Another bottle was clapped down, followed by several more, each containing a different colour of liquid. "Skin conditioner. A mid-strength consciousness potion. A one minute dose of feather-light solution. Invisibility solution, temporary." The set of bottles continued to take up space on the table. "A single dose of freeze-flame. Thirty doses of draught of living death..."

The startled silence from several minutes before was rapidly being replaced with one of confusion and awe, as she continued to withdraw bottle after bottle from deep recesses in her bag.

Had she, the first year Weasley, made all those potions? Today?

Snape didn't look impressed, though. His expression was neutral, but for the derisive smirk that seemed to be locked in place. 

No one outside Slytherin had ever got a positive reaction from Professor Snape before and everyone inside the Great Hall, teachers included, was sure that - no matter what the muggle-raised, famous Gryffindor Weasley tried - she wouldn't succeed in making him doing anything but sneer.

There was a silence, when Willow paused to gain her breath, a dozen little bottles standing in a little group in front of Snape.

"Oh!" She added, and only the teachers who were in her line of sight along the table saw the wickedly malicious glitter in her green eyes. "And I made this one especially for you, Professor Snape."

Everyone in the hall saw her withdraw a small bottle, which contained a substance that seemed to change colour from deep, swirling royal blue to a cloudy shade of pale pink and back again.

Looks were exchanged, even along the teachers table. 

Clearly no one but the girl and the teacher had any idea what the substance was.

Every eye in the Hall went to Snape, whose regulation smirk seemed to be twitching slightly. He pressed his lips together in a thin line, but there was no mistaking what he was trying to cover up.

A smile.

Snape was trying not to smile.

Or laugh.

Since no one had ever seen such a thing before, it was difficult to decide which.

Even Dumbledore was regarding Willow and his Potions Master with a combination of amusement and consternation, as Snape's hands convulsively locked around the arms of the chair he was seated on. 

Nothing had ever made the Potions Master reacted thus in many years and the Head Master couldn't decide if it was a good thing or not, because Snape looked like he was on the verge of a seizure.

He was really trying not to laugh. 

Every person in the Hall could see it. 

He was almost succeeding as well, although his face was going a little more purple than they were used to and his lips were pressed together that they were an even thinner line than even Professor McGonagall managed.

That is, until Willow pushed him over the edge.

Leaning forward, as she placed the tiny bottle right in front of him, she whispered _sotto voce_, with a wink. "Told ya I could poof ya."

A loud, echoing snort of laughter escaped the Potions Master, ringing off the silent walls of the Hall, one hand immediately clamping over his mouth in disbelief as if he couldn't believe he had just made that absurd sound.

Dumbledore cracked. He couldn't help it. The stunned expression on Snape's face was simply too much.

The mirth radiated out in waves, the other teachers - although uncertain of what had caused Snape's outburst - falling against one another at the look of embarrassed irritation on the severe Potions Master's face.

Smiling primly, Willow gathered up her bottles and replaced them in her bag. Her hand came out to the small bottle that she had placed directly in front of him, then paused. "I think I'll let you keep that one." She said.

That said, she turned and walked purposefully across to the Gryffindor table on the other side of the Hall, sitting down at her place and grabbing some food, flashing a grin up at Hermione, then along at Snape.

Neither of the two subjects of her looks seemed to know what to do or say, although Snape - once everyone had turned back to their meals - carefully drew the small bottle across the table and slipped it inside his robes.

Of course, only Willow noticed and smirked.

He sent a scowl in her direction, which was belied by an uncanny gleam in his eye.

For the first time since he had started teaching, he had found a pupil who was up to the challenge of facing him, despite her initial nervousness, and one who knew what she was doing, when left to her own devices.

A pupil who could produce high-quality potions without instruction. He knew, without even having to test them, that every potion she had produced for him in those neatly labelled little bottles was exact in it's content and consistency.

And she was a pupil, who had a sharp, biting sense of humour and a stubborn pride which had actually made _him_, the grimmest, most intimidating teacher in the school, laugh out loud. 

In public. 

By Merlin, he was really going to have to work hard to regain his composure after that slip.

Yet, it was rather...nice.

Once she had overcame her blatant terror and answered him back, once she had managed to ignore him breathing down her neck which was a trick very few of his students managed in their first day, if ever, once she had realised he wasn't about to punish her for daring to move, she had proved most adept.

Not that he wanted it to happen on a regular basis, but yes. He could come to appreciate the young Weasley, as long as she didn't try to hard to outdo him and earn a place on his black list.

She was definitely tolerable.

***

"What was that about?"

"He said that I sucked at potions. I showed him I didn't." Willow was sitting cross-legged on her broad bed, working on her Transfiguration homework, when Hermione entered their room.

Hermione deposited her own bag on the floor beside her desk, then approached Willow's bed. "You made all those potions?"

"Mmm-hmm." Willow didn't look up, making notes with her quill.

"But you made at least a dozen!" The other witch exclaimed, stunned. "How did you do it in the time you were at the lesson?"

"Conjured up lots of cauldrons and had them going at the same time. Once you get in a rhythm, it's not too hard." Willow finally looked up, grinning at her friend. "But you really wanna know what that blue and pink potion was that made the Crank-meister crack, don't you?"

Trying to feign disinterest, the older witch shrugged. "I was a little curious, since that seemed to be the one that...um...affected him the most."

The red head grinned and it was a wicked little grin. "I found it in a book of advanced potion-making I was reading when I was at home. It sounded funny so I remembered it. I never thought I'd have to use it, but he said something and I got SO annoyed with him that I had to make it. Just to prove to him I could do it. Just to see what he would do."

"What was it?"

"Doesn't matter..."

"Willow." Hermione's voice had taken on the severe, lecturing tone.

"It's nickname is gender-blender." Colour rose in Willow's cheeks, her eyes going back down to her homework. 

"You WHAT?!? You made gender-blender?" Hermione squealed, her face going as pink as Willow's was, her hands clapping to her face. "Good grief, Willow! You do know that you made an alternate sexuality potion for Snape, don't you?"

The younger witch timidly lifted her head. "Um...well...I...uh...it made him laugh."

"And you wonder why?" Hermione spluttered.

"He said I couldn't...uh..." The red head went a deeper shade of red. "I wanted to prove that I could...ah...um..." Her voice sank to an mutter of embarrassment that Hermione barely heard. "Poof him."

Shaking her head, still leaning against the post of Willow's bed, the older witch chuckled, her brown eyes crinkled in amusement. "Willow, you are one of the oddest witches I have ever met."

"And that's why ya love me." Willow grinned up at her.

A strange, soft expression crossed Hermione's face and she smiled. "Yes, Willow, that must be it." She chuckled, then added. "You nut-case."

Willow just grinned.


	27. Wolves & Witches

WOLVES & WITCHES

Notes: I've really been utterly uninspired with this chapter, which explains why I'm currently working on the ones WAAAAAAAAAAAAY further into the storyline. Its so much fun further on and this...well, I didn't think I had very much planned for it, but it turns out I could be wrong...

Oh, and Willow's nickname for Snape was borrowed from Echo, because it's late at night and I can't think of anything catchier...hope you don't mind, Echo!

_____________________________

"Okay...how about this? Make the feather float."

Gingerly, Willow pointed her wand at the white feather sitting on the Gryffindor table, peeking nervously through one half-closed eye as she tried, for the umpteenth time, to perform basic spells with her wand.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

At first nothing happened.

Then, slowly, it started to move...

It seemed like an eternity before it lifted off the dark wood of the table top, hovering several millimetres, before rising a little further.

"I did it!"

Unfortunately, the red head spoke to soon.

The feather, still floating, started to twitch in the air. Curls of black smoke started to ripple out from the stem of the feather.

"Oh crap..."

She felt a small hand on her arm and wisely took the wordless hint from the boy who had been helping her, both of them diving underneath the table a second before the feather exploded in a ball of flame.

Several people around the Great Hall screeched in surprise and fright, glaring at the edge of the table as Leon and Willow came back into line of sight, nervously peering around in case there was anything on fire around them.

"Okay...maybe I didn't do it..."

Leon gave her a sympathetic grin. Ever since she had saved his life at their first flying lesson, the young Gryffindor had been trying his best to help her get her wand under her control.

Unfortunately for the red-haired witch, she simply had too much power of her own to combine it with the extreme power of the slayer's hair, which provided the core for her willow wand. 

"You just have to let the wand do the magic for you, instead of doing it yourself."

"But that's the problem, Leon," she mumbled, sweeping the ash of her latest feather into a little mound on the surface of the table. "I'm used to doing the spells without the wand and now...why can't they just let me learn the spells and do them my way?"

"You think you could?"

Willow withdrew another feather from her slightly scorched satchel and placed it on the table, gazing at it, as she said, "_Wingardium leviosa_!"

The curly white feather fluttered up into the air, Leon's mouth falling open as he watched it rise. His glasses slid down his nose and he pushed them back up, blinking in astonishment.

"You-you did it!"

Willow grinned. "No, I didn't," she said. "I cheated. That was mental levitation. I can do that without saying the words."

"Pardon?" Leon said weakly.

"Pick someone."

"Eh?"

"Point to someone."

The boy looked around the crowded Hall, wondering what she was about to do, then pointed towards Hermione Granger, the Professor of Muggle Studies, as she entered through the open doors.

A wicked grin spread across Willow's face. "Watch," she suggested.

Leon nodded, then laughed as Granger - still walking down the aisle - simply seemed to walk up into thin air. She looked down at her feet that were definitely no longer on the floor, then - one hand on her hip - cocked her head at Willow.

"Miss Weasley, I believe you should put me down."

"What makes you think it was me?" Willow looked shocked, as Hermione started to revolve in a perfect circle in thin air.

"Well," the older witch remarked, as if there was nothing untoward about hovering several feet off the ground and spinning. "I doubt there is anyone in this hall who has as much mental control as you. You are performing a Yoda on me."

"The force is with me, huh?" The brown-haired witch was lowered back to her feet and continued walking as if nothing had happened. "I was just showing Leon what I can do without a wand."

"As long as you don't test your swish and flick on me, I think I'll cope," Hermione smiled, sitting down on the opposite side of the table. She glanced at the pile of ash in the middle of it. "I assume that means you're still not having any success with controlling the wand?"

Willow's forehead creased. "I don't get it. I can do most of the transfigurationy stuff okay, but I can't do the charms. Everything keeps going poof...but poof in a flaming-ball-of-fire-poof, not in a gay-little-man-poof..."

"Willow!"

The younger of the two witches blushed. "Um..."

His own cheeks burning a little, Leon looked from Willow to Hermione. "I-I-I think I might know why..." he mumbled nervously, clearing his throat several times. "I-I mean that...you...Willow, you've never done transfiguration or-or-or anything like that before, have you?"

"Not that I can remember."

"B-b-but you have done spells like the ones w-w-we do in charms. Levitation and banishing and-and-and things like that?"

Understanding came across the red head's face. "Of course!" she exclaimed, one hand slapping down on the table. "I'm so used to doing spells like the ones in charms without a wand that I must kinda instinctively try and do them with my mind..."

"And you can perform with the wand in transfiguration because you have never done anything like that with or without a wand, so you automatically use the wand, as it should be used..."

Both witches looked very proud to now understand why the wand was causing so many problems in charms.

"So what can y-you do about it?"

Hermione's face twisted in an expression of thought. "Well, if it is just an instinctual reaction to performing charms..."

"Omigod..." Leon and the Professor both looked at Willow, who was rising in her seat, a delighted expression on her face which seemed to be positively glowing with happiness. "Omigod! OZ!"

Both of her companions stood to see her sprinting the length of the Great Hall, many other eyes looking around to see what the fuss was about, and crashing straight into the arms of a small young man with a colourful shirt and equally colourful hair.

"Who's that, Professor?"

Hermione smiled a little as Willow covered the new arrival's face with kisses, before claiming his mouth in a hard kiss, one of his arms - which was decorated with beaded bracelets - wrapping around her waist.

"Call it a wild guess, Leon," she murmured. "But I would say that's her boyfriend."

***

Hand-in-hand, Willow and Oz were walking by the lakeside in the late afternoon, after a brief tour of the castle and an introduction to Hermione, who had seemed very pleased to meet the werewolf.

In the early Autumn warmth, the grounds of the castle looked even more spectacular than usual, a collage of gold, red, browns and russets, the sun casting a warming glow over all of it.

"Nice place," he said, as they looked out over the dark, glassy waters of the lake. His fingers interwoven between hers, he lifted her hand to his lips, glancing sidelong at her. "You like it here?"

"It's amazing," she sidled a little closer to him, her body warmly pressing against his. "I mean, there's so much to see and everything is always changing all the time, even when you look, you see pictures move and staircases changing..." she paused for a moment, then asked, "Are you staying for while?"

His lips quirked upwards slightly in what she recognised as his equivalent of a broad smile. "If you want."

"If I want?" Oz immediately had an armful of laughing and crying witch. "Of course I want!" Warm kisses were scattered all over his face. "Oh God...I've missed you so much Oz..."

"Pretty much ditto," he replied softly, lifting a hand to cup her face gently. The rough calluses of his fingertips and thumb against her cheek made her smile, her eyes closing as she savoured the touch that was so familiar.

Stroking his fingertips through her silky hair, just behind her ear, he drew her face down to his, their foreheads rubbing together in the gesture of comfort that they had often shared.

Tilting her head a little, Willow brushed a kiss against the heel of his hand, her eyes opening to find him gazing at her intensely. His other came up to frame her face and she was reminded of...

"Are we panicking?" she asked shakily, staring at him.

Oz simply nodded. "We're panicking," he affirmed, before claiming her mouth in a fierce kiss.

"Outdoors?" she asked, a breathless moment later. He gave her a suggestion of a wicked smirk, his hands slipping under her robes. "Oh God..."

"Call of the wild?" he murmured against her throat, before kissing her again.

The last coherent thought that Willow had was that Hagrid wouldn't be doing his rounds anywhere near the lake any time soon...

***

"Willow!"

"Hi, Leon," Sliding into her place at the Gryffindor table next to the small, dark boy, Willow looked up as Oz slipped into a free space that had been provided next to her, a smile on her face. "Oz, this is Leon, Leon, Oz, my boyfriend."

"Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

She and her boyfriend had run in almost an hour late to the feast, which was hardly surprising considering they had practically been on the other side of the lake and had been more than a little distracted with thing more...interesting than food.

Willow's robes were in disarray, her face aglow, her hair wild about her face and her eyes dancing, despite the grassy stains on her hands and knees.

Oz looked as calm as he had when he had arrived at the Great Hall, nearly three hours earlier, only there was a twinkle in his eye that could rival Dumbledore's and that was really saying something.

Apparently, the happy vibe rising from the couple was more obvious than they had realised, a cough from the top of the hall catching Willow's attention.

The witch glanced up towards the teachers table to see Hermione wink down at her and grinned. "Did we miss anything?" she asked, as she and Oz helped themselves to the food already on the table.

"Dumbledore made an announcement an hour before dinner started about the far side of the lake being out of bounds until tomorrow..."

"Eep!" Willow went scarlet. She could feel the heat rising in her face and wondered why it was suddenly getting so very warm. A hand touched her thigh beneath the table and she glanced at Oz, who smiled slightly.

"You're blushing," he murmured softly, his hand moving in gentle circles on her inner thigh.

"Do you blame me for blushing when Dumbledore knows what we were..." she mumbled unsteadily, a little distracted by his lazy caress beneath her robes. "And then he made sure that everyone else knew that there was the thing that meant the other side of the lake was out of bounds and was our fault and you and me...and we..." she buried her face in his shoulder with a moan. "I've never been so embarrassed..."

"Good evening, Miss Weasley," a familiar voice said from behind her. "And you, Mr. Osbourne."

"Oh God...I was wrong..." Oz chuckled, as Willow's face went an even deeper shade of red. Turning, she sheepishly looked up at Dumbledore. "Um...hi..."

The Head Master's eyes were twinkling as usual. "I'm very glad to see that you had a happy reunion with Daniel," he said.

"When you say see...?" Willow's brows lifted hopefully. "You don't mean see-see right? You mean the holding-hands-and-walking-into-the-hall-for-dinner-see, not the I-saw-you-and-know-what-happened-see?"

The twinkle was making her blush even more, if that were actually possible, her ears burning. "I merely meant, Miss Weasley, that you and Daniel look positively aglow. I have no idea what you mean by seeing anything whatsoever..."

Willow made a plaintive whimpering sound in her throat and buried her ruby face in Oz's shoulder again, as Professor Dumbledore moved off towards the teacher's table, chuckling softly.

"I don't care what people say," she mumbled against Oz's neck. "He's evil. He's an evil nasty and mean person who shouldn't spend so much time trying to embarrass poor, helpless little witches because it's not a good thing to do especially when the poor little witch gets very embarrassed very easily anyway and I really don't like being embarrassed cos it leads to blushing and bab...um..." Her eyes rose to her boyfriend, who was looking very amused. "You said you'd stop me when I do that."

Nudging his forehead against hers a little, he replied, "I like it when you do that. I missed it."

Willow's lips curled up in a smile. "I missed it when you say you missed me doing stuff," she murmured, nestling against him, although she had the distinct feeling that they were being watched.

"Dark guy's staring. Looks kinda evil..."

Ah, Snape. 

She should have known.

"That's just Cranky-pants Snape," she said quietly, letting her eyes flick to him for a second. He was doing his usual half-closed eyes thing, so it didn't look like he was watching them, but she was familiar with it.

"Hmm," Oz's forehead was resting against her temple. "Creepy."

"But a good guy," Willow muttered. "Hard to believe, huh?"

"Mmm."

Willow raised a hand to stroke through Oz's hair. "I think he's jealous," she said.

"Jealous, huh?" One of her boyfriend's hands came up and turned her face back to his, their foreheads brushing against one another again, his fingertip brushing along her lip. "Could be easy to annoy..."

"Oz, you're terrible!"

His eyes glinted. "I know," he breathed hotly, his words warm against her lips, his fingertips trailing down her chin and throat, a second before she was pulled into his arms and kissed.

Wolf-whistles and whooping hoots rang out from the senior end of the table, while the junior years made sounds of being sick, making Willow's receding flush return full force, her ears scarlet.

Pulling away from her lips, his row still against hers, his pants warm and sweet on her face, Oz asked softly, "He still watching?" Willow's eyes flicked sideways and she nodded, drawing deep breaths. "How'd's'he look?"

"Like he's..." Willow blinked, staring. "Uh...he's smirking..."

Oz, one arm still loosely around his girlfriend's waist, turned back to the table, shooting an expressionless look in Snape's direction. "Hmm," he murmured. "Is he always that creepy?"

"Oh yeah," Willow nodded, her head resting Oz's shoulder. "I don't think anyone really likes him and he doesn't like very many of the teachers, especially Hermione and Remus."

"Oh?"

"You'll like Remus," she nodded. "He's a werewolf." There was a moment's silence before she cautiously added. "At least, I think you'll like him. Don't get mad at him or make him mad, though...I mean, the last time I saw you and another wolf..."

Oz looked at her. "Will, I'm sure we'll get on great," he reassured, raising her hand to his lips and kissing her knuckles. "As long as evil-guy doesn't put the moves on you and Remus doesn't get mad easily...I think we'll be fine."

***

"Remus!"

Halfway down the corridor that lead to his bedroom, still recovering from the after-effects of the full moon two nights before, Lupin paused at the voice of the youngest Weasley, turning to see her hurrying towards him.

"Willow," he smiled.

"Come with me," she said urgently, latching onto his arm. "I've got someone who wants to meet you."

Lupin gave her a curious look, then inhaled a breath. "Ah, your boyfriend..." He could feel the warmth radiating from her red cheeks and chuckled when she scowled at him, hauling him along by the arm.

"I hate it when you do that wolfy-senses thing," she grumbled at him. "It's not fair when we can't smell if we smell or if you're smelling something we should smell, but don't know we should smell it since you smell more than we smell anyway..."

"Quite."

Willow pulled a face at him. "You know what I mean," she said. 

Stopping in front of a painting of a group of nuns, which was the hidden doorway that lead up to the room that Hermione and Willow shared, without have to pass through the common room, the witch stepped close and muttered the password.

Lupin couldn't help laughing.

"Slippery nipple?" he inquired, as the painting swung open, all the nuns in it gasping in mortification at the words.

"Hermione thinks its funny," Willow mumbled. "We take it in turns to make a new password and she chose that one, cos she knows it embarrasses me and she's worse than Fred and George for trying to make me blush."

Lupin smiled a little, as he was led up the winding stairs, which opened onto a small landing, where a single door hung half-open, revealing the warmly coloured room of the two witches.

Seated in the window-seat, a young man was leaning back against the window frame in front of her, Hermione was pointing out the various features of the grounds to the younger werewolf, who seemed to go rigid as Willow and Lupin arrived.

"Oz," Hurrying across the room, Willow took one of her boyfriend's hands, as he came to his feet. "This is Remus Lupin." She motioned Lupin forward with an eager wave. "I told you about him..."

Crossing the floor, the thick carpet rising up his shin ticklishly, he stopped two paces away from the younger werewolf studying him with interest. He had never had the chance to meet a wolf before, especially not in these circumstances.

The boy was small, smaller than Willow, with hair that was several different colours of the rainbow. He was wearing loose trousers, a baggy T-shirt and a loose shirt over them, several beaded necklaces and bracelets adorning his throat and wrists.

Lupin felt almost like he was staring at a younger image of himself, when he finally met the boy's calm, pale eyes. While they looked nothing alike, there was something in the eyes that reminded him so much of himself

"Hey," A slim hand was held out to him.

"Hey," he replied, his own hand closing around the younger wolf's. It was warm and dry, much like his own. "Remus Lupin."

"Daniel Osbourne."

There was a moment's silence, during which the two young witches anxiously looked from one face to the other.

Osbourne's eyes flicked over Lupin's face. "Bad time?"

"Worst," Lupin felt a smile reach his lips. 

Finally, here was someone who could make comparisons with him. Someone who knew exactly what it was like and could see, just by looking at him, how he was feeling and assess him from there.

He knew he looked raw. 

He had shaved and brushed himself up, but - after years of being greeted by his reflection in the mornings - he could see the bags under his eyes, the paleness of his face all reflecting on how good or bad the transformation had been.

"Bad luck."

"You?"

"Nothing I can't handle."

"Used to it?"

"If you can be..."

Willow and Hermione were looking distinctly blank.

"Uh, what are you guys talking about?"

Osbourne's lips quirked. "Wolf stuff," he replied.

"Just passed," Lupin nodded. "Solstice..."

"Longer nights starting," Oz replied, a grim look crossing his stoic face.

"Makes it harder."

"More painful."

Willow was looking at them both as they exchanged knowing nods, slowly shaking her head in disbelief. "Okay," she said firmly. "You two are really starting to give me a wiggens..."

Oz and Lupin exchanged quiet smiles and Willow warily stepped back behind the giggling Hermione.

"I think they're doing it on purpose," Hermione remarked dryly.

As one, both werewolves turned in the direction of the witches and smiled those identical tiny smiles.

"You think so?" Willow moaned, ducking behind Hermione's back. "I'm starting to think it was a bad idea to introduce them..."

"To quote an Americanism," Hermione snickered. "Duh."


	28. Dark Whispers

DARK WHISPERS

Author's Notes: This is another of those filler chapters, really, and you know I only do them if they're absolutely essential to the story. In this case it most definitely is.

Oh, and we have a chance to see some of the opposition and I'm seriously considering bringing Malfoy back into it, simply because if he gets a chance to annoy her again, I have a distinct feeling he'll take it. Actually, I have considered it anyway. I always consider Malfoy-ness. Yummy Malfoy (Senior and Junior preferably, although not quite in as kinky a way as it could be) goodness...or badness. Either way, sexy-as-hell bad boys for me to swoon over.

Also, apologies for some of the Buffy characters if they seem out of voice - my excuse remains the same - I haven't seen S1/2/3/4/5 in absolutely ages, I've only seen 11 episodes of S6 and I have seen none of S7.

_____________________________

"I'm getting bored, Jinx!"

The pack of hardy little demons were busy rushing around their effulgent gleaming wonderousness' luxurious, penthouse apartment but Glory was lazing on a chaise-lounge in the centre of the room, one hand lightly resting over her forehead and closed eyes, looking a little drained. 

A few of her minions were scuttling around, the chief one, Jinx, warily approaching the chaise. 

He was about five-foot tall and clad in sackcloth robes that looked like a miniature monk's habit, his skin scaled and dark red-brown. Black eyes stared nervously at the reclining Hell Goddess.

After all, the fabulous Glorificus was one of the most powerful demon entities to ever enter Sunnydale and she held all the supreme powers of a Goddess from a Hell Dimension. 

Okay, yes, they had kicked her out of the dimension for trying to take over and make it 'Gloryworld' – Hey! A damned mouse in this dimension got his own world, so why not 'Gloryworld'? – the ungrateful idiots that they were, but she was still a Hell Goddess, dammit! 

Although there was that minor issue of her sanity vanishing on regular occasions...

That usually meant she had to top it up by...borrowing from some of the lesser beings that inhabited the Hellmouth, provided by her minions.

It had the unfortunate side effect of leaving insane humans behind, but as long as she was sane enough to co-ordinate her wardrobe and threaten her minions, Glory couldn't care less.

"How-how-how can we help, oh dazzling Glorificus?" A yelp escaped him as her other hand shot out and grabbed him by one of his bat-like ears and yanked him closer to the couch.

"What did I tell you about using my name, Jinxy?" she sighed in frustration. "And you know what you can do," she released his ear, wiping her hand on the couch, and the demon staggered. "Find me my goddamned Key."

The squat, bumpy-looking demon minion scrambled out of reach of Glory's hand, his robes hiked up to his knobbly knees. "We are still searching, your most radiant-luminousness," he whimpered, cringing when she crooked her finger at him.

"Searching isn't good enough!" One of her deceptively delicate hands grabbed him by the front of the robe, hoisting him off his feet. "I want finding, Jinxy. You know. The kind of finding that means that I have my Key without the Slayer ruining more of my clothes? Is any of this getting through?"

"We-we-we truly sympathise with the d-d-damage placed on your wardrobe, your glimmering beauteousness!" he squeaked, trying to squirm free of her grip and run for cover as she glared at him.

"Mmm...the Gucci...it was a one of a kind..." 

Glory's hand draped over her eyes and forehead again, a quiet moan escaping her, as her eyes closed.

"Are you..." Jinx studied her cautiously. "Do you need something, your illuminous gleaming radiance?"

Her half-closed eyes looked at him and she smiled unsteadily. 

"Perhaps a little pick-me-up would be good..." Her hand waved in circles in his direction. "It-it's starting to scratch away...scratch-scratch-scratch away inside my head...know what I mean, Jinxy?" He nodded sympathetically, although he had no clue what she was talking about. It was safer to agree with whatever she said than to get thrown across the room for asking what she meant. "I guess I should try and take my mind off it...have you got me anything?"

Jinx eagerly clapped his lumpy hands together and two of the other minions scuttled out of the door, returning several minutes later with a dumpy man in a suit with a long trench coat over it.

"This salesman came, your radiant delicateness!"

Struggling to sit up, Glory swayed where she sat, her head rocking on her shoulder as the minions - like evil mini-monks crossed with Oompa Loompas on crack - hustled the overweight man towards her.

"What you wantin', lady?" the man demanded, sounding a little frightened. 

A gleaming sheen of sweat was washed over his red, round face and above his upper lip and his hands were shaking around his sales case, which was held up against his slightly larger than average paunch.

Mind you, considering the...things that were gathered around him, prodding him and exclaiming about how juicy his mind was, it was more than a little justified that he was getting nervous.

"Come..." Glory moaned, gesturing him forward.

He was pushed to his knees in front of her, staring.

The minions smiled knowingly at one another.

No doubt he was in awe of the absolute radiance of her wonderful glimmeriness and her lusciously curly golden tresses and hideously smooth features and...oh, she was simply too wonderful for them to describe.

One of Glory's hands rose and she pushed the man's hat off, letting it bounce on the floor, revealing a bald crown, gleaming with sweat.

"Look, lady, I dunno who-who-who you are or what-what you want from me, but I'm married..."

Swaying, an insane smile coming to her lips, Glory's eyes fixed on his face, as her fingers moved in circles on his temples. "Uh...huh...married with bells on and a little bride all dressed in white..."

Both she and the man cried out as her fingers plunged through his temples and into his skull, light streaming out from the spots where her fingers had penetrated his mind, the man's voice rising in a cry of pain, while hers soared in rapture.

Gradually the cries trailed off.

Yanking her fingers free, a broad smile on her face, Glory let the salesman droop at her feet, mumbling about the light. "God, I feel so much better now!" she trilled enthusiastically, leaping to her feet. "And what the Hell am I wearing?"

"A very attractive combination of dark grey training pants and a Khaki T-shirt, your gracious swoon-worthiness!" one of the lesser minions called out eagerly. "It has never looked so glamorous on anyone but you!"

Glory sniffed. "That might be true, but I can't go looking for my Key when I look like this..." she stalked towards her wardrobe and disappeared into it's depths, as the minions exchanged proud looks.

It truly was a privilege to work for her radiantness.

Apart from pain, the humiliation, degradation and beatings...

But who truly paid attention to those things anyway?

*** 

Lying on her belly on her bed, her feet kicking lazily back and forth, Willow was writing to Buffy. Oz was lying beside her, on his back, one hand behind his head, as he watched her write, a small smile on his lips.

Sunlight was streaming in from all sides, drenching the room in a flood of afternoon light, the white gauze drapes whispering in the Autumn-scented breeze that was rippling into the tower.

Her nose wrinkled, Willow was scribbling on the paper with furious concentration, her forehead creased and her lower lip caught between her teeth. Pausing at the end of a line, she glanced at her boyfriend.

Pale eyes gazed back at her, twinkling.

"What?" Pushing a swathe of red hair back from her eyes, she mock-glared at him, laying her quill down.

"Hmm?"

"You were staring at me," she laughed, playfully pushing his face away, only to squeal when he kissed her palm. "Oz!" His eyes half-closed, he studied her, that familiar almost-smile on his lips. "You are gonna be in so much trouble if you keep doing that, Mister!"

"You had your thinking-face on," One of his hands came up, sliding into her hair, his fingertips skimming the cusp of her ear. Willow shivered at the contact. "I like your thinking face."

"You do?"

"All Willow-faces are good," he murmured, gazing up at her, his fingertips moving in small, lazy circles on her scalp. She blinked at him mutely, her lips parted. "Even that one." His thumb brushed down her cheek, tracing along her cheekbone.

"Oz..."

"Mmm?" 

"Hermione'll be back from that staff meeting soon..."

One of his eyebrows rose slightly, but his fingers kept playing lightly through her hair, her eyes fluttering closed. 

A gasp escaped her when she felt the mattress shift beneath them, as he moved closer, the heat of his body close enough for her to feel through her casual T-shirt and trousers. A warm breath made the hairs on her neck rise.

A tingle passed through her and she tried to form words. "Oz..."

"Sh..." he whispered, his lips skimming against her neck, like a brush of silk against skin that suddenly felt feverishly hot, his hand cradling her cheek.

The soft stroke of his lips under her jaw and along her jawline made her tremble, one hand shakily rising to cover the one cradling her face, turning the palm in to her own kisses.

A feathery kiss touched the corner of her mouth. "Hermione'll be back soon," he echoed her words teasingly, his forehead brushing against her temple.

"Screw Hermione," Willow gasped as one of his hands brushed down her back, making her arch.

"I would prefer you," he murmured, before claiming her lips in a kiss.

With a wave of her hand, the drapes whipped closed around Willow's bed, as she fell into her lover's embrace.

***

"You are aware why you have been called here, are you not?"

Every member of staff body of Hogwarts was present in the staff room, some seated, some standing, all looking up at the head master with some measure of understanding and expectation.

Dumbledore, standing the stretch of light spreading through the arched windows, was gazing out on the grounds. He didn't turn as he began to speak, his voice barely a murmur, but carrying to them all.

"A dark power is rising," His fingertips brushed along the off-white stone of the window ledge. "It may not be close to us, but it - if permitted - will encompass our world and destroy all that we have striven to raise in these past years."

"Do we know what it is, Head Master?" Granger was the one to ask. She was seated on one of the low, comfortable couches that stood around an equally low table in the middle of the room.

He turned, pausing to brush some dust from his flowing sleeve. "I am afraid that I know exactly what it is, Miss Granger," he replied gravely. "And I am aware of how it will succeed, if we stand aside and do nothing."

"How...bad is it?"

"It is worse that Voldemort," Everyone in the room flinched, their faces twisting in horror at the news.

There was a long silence, looks exchanged.

"The darkness is in the form of a woman, who currently resides in South California in the United States of America," he said, pacing across the room. His robes rustled, the only sound but for the breathing of his audience. "However, should anyone in this room see her, do not be fooled. She is no muggle...nor simply a magical being. She is a Goddess from a Hell dimension. Should she succeed in her plans, a gateway between her world and ours will be opened, bringing with it the ruin of all."

Someone uttered a curse.

McGonagall's face went a little white, her hands spread on the back of the chair that she was standing behind. "Albus, are you sure of this?"

Blue eyes looked at her. "Yes," was the only answer he gave.

"How can a Goddess be defeated?" Snape asked quietly. "It was difficult enough to defeat the Dark Lord and he was a half-muggle."

Dumbledore came around in front of one of the couches, Sprout leaping up and to one side to allow him to sit down. The Head Master gave her a grateful look, settling himself and adjusting his robes around him.

"There is a way," he said calmly. "That we can prevent her from doing unnecessary damage, by concealing and protecting the mystical object which she seeks. That object could be the one to destroy our world."

"Shouldn't we destroy it before she gets to it?"

Dumbedore shook his head, his beard rasping against his embroidered robes. "I am afraid that," he replied. "Even from a moral standpoint, it would be a crime to destroy this Key."

"Do we know where this...thing is?" Granger asked.

"Yes," the reply came with a trace of satisfaction. "The Key is under the protection of the current Vampire Slayer, who also resides in South California." 

"The Vampire Slayer?" Lupin echoed.

"I believe some of you will have heard of her...and met her at some point during this summer," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in the direction of Professors Sprout and Flitwick, who both nodded.

"How is a little girl, who has a duty to fight vampires and demons, supposed to protect this magical object?" Snape demanded, his arms folded over his chest. His eyes locked with Dumbledore's, gleaming questioningly.

Dumbledore almost wanted to laugh out loud. How very typical it was of Severus to doubt that anyone save him could defend anything against the Dark Arts. 

"Ah, that is a good question, Severus. Perhaps, I ought to have informed you that this particular Slayer has been performing this duty for five years now. I believe, if my calculations are correct, that this is some kind of record?"

Snape's expression hardened. "That does not answer the question, Head Master."

"Severus, this young woman had saved the world from the forces of darkness more times than I dare to even contemplate, even sacrificing that which she loved the most to save the world she barely knows," Dumbledore said gently. "She will protect the Key with her life."

"Does she know she has the Key?"

"I believe so, Miss Granger."

"And if she can't protect it?"

Dumbledore eyes went to his hands, which were folded together. Odd, he noticed as he considered his answer, his freckles perfectly formed the constellation of Orion on the back of his left hand.

"Head Master?"

"Oh!" Blue eyes rose. "She will be able to contact me, should she need aid," he replied with a smile, glancing down at the group of freckles again. 

They were really quite fascinating things, like the scar of the London underground on his knee. 

He reluctantly suppressed the urge of showing them to Professor McGonagall, despite the odd desire to let her see. Something told him it wasn't quite the right time for showing off freckles.

"And if she does require our assistance?"

Dumbledore raised bushy eyebrows. "Well, obviously, Severus, we will give it to her," he replied. "I mean, I do appreciate warmer weather now and again, but I think Hell-on-Earth may be a little hot for my tastes." 

Professor Granger giggled behind her hand.

"How could we aid her, Albus? We aren't exactly...equipped to fight a Goddess."

The Head Master leaned back to study the light playing through one of the high windows on the wall. "We aid her in any way that we can," he answered calmly. "I trust her judgement. She won't come to us unless she truly believes she is incapable of protecting the Key and when that day comes, we shall aid her."

"And if this Goddess attacks Hogwarts?"

Dumbledore smiled slightly. "If I may quote the Slayer on this subject," A few shrugs passed around the group and his eyes glinted impishly. "We kick her sorry ass back to Hell."

***

Pushing the front door closed behind her, Buffy shrugged her backpack off her back and deposited on the floor at her feet in the hall. "Mom, I'm home," she called, loosening her hair.

"Ain't that precious? Nice to see that some people in this world still care about their old mothers."

The Slayer went rigid, turning to look into the living room.

Glory, her left arm propped on the arm of the chair, waved her fingers at the Slayer, a smile on her lips. "Hey, sweetie," she cooed. "Hope you don't mind me dropping in uninvited, but I heard a whisper that you had my Key."

"Get out of here."

"Ooh, spunky," Sitting up, the blonde woman grinned at her without humour. "I'm not leaving until I get my Key."

"I don't have it," Buffy lied, her hands clenched into fists as she walked a little way into the living room. "Where's my mom?"

"Oh don't worry about her, Precious. She was napping on her bed. She wouldn't know anything useful but you..." A perfectly manicured finger was directed at the Slayer. "You know something."

"I don't know anything about your Key," Buffy's eyes widened in panic, as Dawn wandered in from the kitchen, eating peanut butter out of the jar with her fingers. She made a slight gesture with her hands and Dawn stopped walking, one sticky finger in her mouth.

Raising her eyebrows, Dawn looked at the back of the head of the woman in front of her. Her eyes returned to Buffy and she understood.

"Come on, Slayer, I know you have something..." Glory leaned forwards in her seat, cupping her chin in her right hand. "You want to tell me or do I rip your house down and find it myself?"

Motioning with her fingers, her eyes still on Glory, Buffy glared at the woman. "I don't have your Key," she repeated, mentally sighing as Dawn started to back towards the kitchen. "I don't know anything about it."

"Hold on, cutie," A hand pointed in Dawn's direction, the dark-haired teen freezing on the spot. Twisting in her seat, Glory smiled up at her. "How about you? Do you know anything about my Key?"

Folding her arms over her chest, Dawn assumed hostile-sulk position. "No."

"Your sister stole it from me and I really want it back," Glory gave Dawn a mock sympathetic look. "She ever steal your stuff?"

"All the time," Dawn's fingertips drummed on her upper arms and she flashed a frightened look at her elder sister, who nodded for her to stay calm.

"Its annoying, huh?"

"Yeah, it is," Dawn scowled, looking impressively moody. "Having a sister sucks."

"And I bet it would really annoy her if you told me where my Key is, huh?"

Dawn gave her the huffy teenager look again. "If I knew I would tell you, but no one ever tells me anything," Buffy felt like applauding her sister for the little scene. "I'm just a kid, according to them!"

Turning, she stomped off and thundered up the stairs.

Glory turned back to Buffy. "Cute kid," she remarked, as she came to her feet. "If I don't get my Key, I think I'll kill her first."

"Over my dead body," Buffy snarled.

Glory smiled coldly. "That could be arranged, sweetie," she said dangerously. Then, she stepped around Buffy. "I'll be back, little girl. I'm going to find my Key and you're not going to stop me."

Arms crossed over her chest, Buffy followed the blonde woman with her eyes until Glory disappeared out the front door.

As soon as she was gone, the Slayer ran to the telephone and dialled Giles' number with shaking hands. He answered instantly. "Giles..." she whispered urgently. "Glory was here...she threatened Dawn...yeah...we need help..."

Placing the telephone back in the cradle, Buffy glanced up at the ceiling, to the place where her sister's room was located.

A smile reached her lips.

Things were about to get very interesting.


	29. Sanctuary

SANCTUARY

Notes: Yay! We're where I've been dying to reach for AGES! Or at least we're the chapter before it :D This is where I get super-giddy and you all stare at your screens and wonder if I'm as much a freak as I sound :) (and I am, so don't worry unless I appear at your front door holding a very attractive and deadly-looking axe)

I'm also currently working on the first few chapters of a BIG story (my first straight Harry Potter big fic cos everything else I've done so far has been crossover work), which is going to take me months to write and whee! Its fun! 

Also, this chapter looks to be bigger than average (average being 6-7 short pages). Imagine your good self - as a Harry Potter fan - finding out that the whole HP-verse actually exists and that you are actually being invited into it. And yes, you are getting a vague idea of what is about to happen to Miss Summers Jr.

_____________________________

"But are you sure it's a good idea to send her somewhere else?"

Dawn leaned against the wall, halfway down the stairs, her face tight with anger and confusion. Yeah, she had been told about the whole Key deal ages ago, but Buffy wanted to get rid of her?

Her feet two steps down, she leaned forwards, her elbows on her knees, her long hair sweeping lightly against her hands as she listened. Her mother, Buffy and Giles were talking in the dining room and apparently weren't aware that she was there.

"It would certainly be a lot safer, Joyce," Giles said. He was speaking in his protective, almost father-like tone. "They're powerful and they will be able to shield her from Glory in ways that we can't and keep her out of trouble."

Yeah, because she couldn't look after herself.

The teenager scowled a little more darkly. 

She heard her mother sigh before she started speaking again. 

"Where would we be sending her to?" Oh, gee, thanks for the support and love, mom. You just tell them to send me right away. "I mean, where is there that is safer than with you, Buffy?"

"Its a wizarding school," Giles said.

WHOA! 

Hold the phone! 

What was THIS?

Wizarding school?

That sounded _so_ Harry-Potter!

Okay, if they were going to send her to somewhere like Hogwarts, maybe it wouldn't be so bad...

That would be _so _cool!

Easing down a step, she leaned forward a little, listening closely. "A wizarding school?" she heard her mom asking, sounding as surprised as she felt. "But I didn't think wizarding schools were real."

"Nor did we, but it turned out Willow was a real witchy type, so she moved away from Sunnydale to go and learn her witchy stuff at a school," Buffy explained, Dawn's mouth opening in astonishment.

"Willow's there?" Joyce sounded reassured. "Is...is it a nice school? I mean, it's not one of those horrible movie-style boarding schools, is it? I would hate to send her anywhere like that..."

"Will loves it," Buffy confirmed. "And I bet Dawn will too."

Taking that as her cue, Dawn stood up and walked into the room, crossing her arms over her chest. "You could have just asked me," she said, giving them her best sulky teenager look.

Giles and Buffy had matching looks on their faces: the expression that said 'We are so busted!'

"Dawn, what have I told you about listening in on other people's conversations?"

"Mom, you were all talking so loudly I couldn't not hear it," Sliding into the vacant seat next to her sister, Dawn grinned. "So...where's this wizarding school thing and when do I go?"

Three pairs of eyes stared at her. "You want to go?"

Dawn shrugged. If it was confusing the 'adults', even better. "Sure!" she replied, tossing her hair back over her shoulders. "I wanna see Willow. I haven't seen her in _so_ long."

"Well, that was easier and less painful than I expected..." Giles remarked, taking off his glasses and cleaning them.

"How do I get there? When do I go? Is it a big school? Like in Harry Potter?" Her sister and Giles exchanged a strange look. "What? Is it tiny? Is it a one-person school or something?"

"Firstly, Dawn," Giles started to speak. "You would have to fly to England, on a plane not on a broomstick," he deliberately emphasised it and she pouted. "One of Willow's brothers will meet you at the other end and take you to the school."

"Willow has brothers?"

"Yeah, mom," Buffy answered. "It turns out she was kidnapped by a bad wizard guy when she was a baby and there's this whole big thing where she's related to this magic family."

"If Harry Potter was real, I bet she would be a Weasley," Dawn said thoughtfully, tracing circles on the tabletop. Giles made a noise that sounded like a laugh turned into a very fake sneeze. "What?"

"Oh, nothing, Dawn," He smiled. "Now, perhaps we should decide how we are to get the transport arranged..."

***

"Two staff meetings in two weeks, Albus...I'm starting to get quite concerned about you," Professor McGonagall muttered to the Head Master, as she sat down beside him on the low couch in the main staff room.

"Nothing to worry about, my dear," the Head master replied, patting her hand. "Is everyone present and correct?"

Murmurs of assent passed around the teaching body.

"As I mentioned at our last meeting, the Slayer had my permission to contact me, should she need our assistance in the concealment of the artefact, which the Hell Goddess is looking for."

"Let me guess," Snape said dryly. "She needs our help."

Professor Dumbledore's face creased in a smile beneath his beard. "For a short time, yes. She has requested that we grant sanctuary to the Key. She will be arriving some time early next week."

"The Slayer?"

"No. The Key."

Hermione Granger raised a hand questioningly. "I know I'm not the only one thinking 'eh?' here, Head Master," she said, her forehead creasing. "Are you saying that the Key is a person?" 

"That is exactly what I'm saying, Professor Granger."

"Which is why you said it would be morally wrong to destroy it..."

The Head Master smiled serenely. "I do so love it when a good puzzle comes together," he remarked, twiddling his thumbs. "Perhaps I ought to explain. In order to give the Slayer incentive to protect the Key, the previous protectors of the Key sent it to her in a human form, with memories and attachments. To the Slayer and everyone who knows the Key, the Key is a real person."

"But to us, she's simply a Key..."

Dumbledore chuckled. He had heard all about Dawn, when he had been contacted by Rupert Giles. "Ah, yes, Minerva, but I would suggest waiting until you meet her. A fourteen-year-old girl going through puberty behaves...strangely enough as it is, but to be told you are an interdimensional lockpick..." His eyes twinkled. "I'm sure she will be an interesting addition to the school."

"Albus, you thought Willow Weasley was going to be an interesting addition to the school and she blew the wall of my charms classroom across the lake..." Professor Flitwick piped up.

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled. "Personally, I did find that rather interesting," he said with a barely hidden smile.

"How is the Key getting here?"

"The Key," the Head Master started to speak again, his expression turning serious. "Is to be called Dawn under all circumstances. Should she be referred to as the Key, we would all be placed in grave peril."

"Tune in next week for another death-defying adventure at Hogwarts, the safest Wizarding School in the world..." Hermione muttered. Dumbledore gave her a reprimanding look, belied by his twinkling eyes.

"She will be arriving on the Hogwarts Express from London with a couple of special visitors at some point in the next week," he said jovially. "I'm sure you'll see her when she arrives."

"And where will she be staying?" Blue eyes twinkled in Hermione's direction. "Oh, no! No you don't! Sharing with Willow and Oz is bad enough for now! I'm not having a hormonal timebomb in my room!"

"I have been assured that she is very well behaved."

"Compared to WHAT?"

"Professor Granger, she knows Miss Weasley," Dumbledore's tone changed a little. "I would feel more secure in the knowledge that she is staying with someone she knows and trusts, at least until she is used to the school."

Hermione sighed. "All right, Albus," She pointed a finger in his direction. "But don't you dare say that I never do anything for you."

"You are an angel, Professor Granger. A gem. A star. The brightest star to ever grace the highest of the heavens and we are truly blessed to have your luminous radiance bestowing it's light upon us!"

"Oh, shut up," Hermione said grumpily, hiding a smile.

***

Walking through the passageway behind the rest of the passengers from the flight, Dawn felt a pack of butterflies doing the lambada in her stomach, her hands gripping onto the shoulder straps of her rucksack and the extended handle of her wheeled case which was running along behind her.

It was nearly fourteen and a half hours since she had boarded the flight in Los Angeles airport, her mother, sister, Giles, Xander and Anya seeing her off with a few tears from everyone.

One of the stewardesses on the flight had been assigned to keep check of her. She had acted annoyed about it, but secretly she was relieved to have someone watching out for her. 

That same stewardess had been traded as soon as she landed for one of the ground staff at Heathrow Airport, who was now walking alongside her and talking in a voice with a very cool, very Gilesy accent.

She had slept for most of the flight, but now, she was in London, walking out into a strange country, expecting a group of complete strangers to recognise her and take her to a magic school.

How was she going to recognise them? Did they look like Willow? What if they didn't see her or she didn't see them and they missed each other and she was left standing in the middle of the airport and...

Okay...

She stopped short.

So, she wasn't going to miss them by accident. 

On purpose maybe, but not by accident.

A group of men were standing under a large, hideously colourful - and were the words flashing in different colours? - banner with the word 'Dawn Summers, come on down!' printed on it.

Oh...God...

Smiling awkwardly, Dawn started walking up the hall towards them, where they stood at the railings, then stopped again, staring, her heart jumping down to her toes then back to her throat in one quick bungee. 

Oh...

My...

God...

The men that were waiting for her...every single one of them had red hair. 

Bright red hair. 

And two of them were identical, wearing wool sweaters with the letters 'F' and 'G' on them. 

And one of them was tall and gangly with a long nose and freckles. 

And one had horn-rimed glasses on and a suit and an expression that said he would prefer to be working.

And the last two...one was short and stocky with burns on his grinning face and singed hair, the other tall and wearing what looked like leather, his long hair pulled back from his face.

Dawn blinked.

She had to be seeing things.

"Hey!" one of them shouted to her. "You're Dawnie, right?" 

Unable to think of anything to say, she nodded, staring. The short, stocky man ducked under the barrier and hurried towards her, grabbing her case with one callused hand and her arm with the other.

"All right?" he grinned at her.

"Uh...hi..."

"I'd guess that's the jetlag talking," he remarked, as the banner they had was hauled down and she was helped under the rail by several pairs of hands. "I'm Charlie, by the way," he said. "Charlie Weasley."

Dawn blinked.

"You all right? You look a bit peaky."

The teenager looked faintly up at the one who had spoken. It was the tallest of the group, with the long nose and millions of freckles and despite him being a lot older than he should be, she knew who he was. 

"R-Ron?"

The man with the long hair let out a guffaw, which drew startled looks from all around them. "Oh, this is bloody priceless!" he said, pointing at her. "She's read the books! She's read the bleeding books!"

"So that's why Wills told all of us to be here and for us two to wear our lettered jumpers..." the man with the 'F' sweater said. He studied Dawn with a grin. "I'm George, by the way. And you look like you're going to faint." 

"Uh...I...I think I should sit..."

Helped over to a block of seats, Dawn sat down heavily, feeling very, very dizzy.

"I-I'm not just dreaming this, am I? I'm not still asleep on the plane...?"

"No, you're not dreaming this," Ron said comfortingly, then looked around at his brothers. "Any of you got any chocolate?"

"I've got a burnt bar..." Charlie offered. "If you can chip the crust off, it should be all right." 

George rooted through his pockets. "Canary creams...ton tongue toffees... ever-growing gobstoppers...lick-n-stick mice..." he shrugged helplessly. "Sorry, Ron, no chocolate today."

"Useless, absolutely useless," The bespectacled one reappeared, pushing between them and holding out something called a 'twirl'. "Here, Miss Summers, I think this should suffice."

Dawn tried to say thanks, but her words caught, her hands shaking a she tried to open the purple wrapper of the bar of chocolate. 

"Here," Ron opened it for her. He was squatting on his toes beside her, studying her with concern. "You all right?" She nodded, staring at him, wide-eyed. "Willow is dying for this one! This is just mean!"

"W-wait...you're Willow's brothers?"

"That's us. Even Perce, although we had to abduct him by force from work," The one with glasses huffed indignantly. "We've got a charm on us so no other muggle sees us as a madcap band of red-haired men but you."

"Willows a Weasley..." Her stunned expression was rapidly giving way to a broad smile, her blue eyes shining with excitement. "Willows a Weasley! I knew it! I knew that she couldn't be a red-haired witch and not be related to you guys!"

"So you can deal with the fact that a bunch of fictional characters aren't fictional now?" Ron said, giving her a grin. Dawn ducked her head and went scarlet. He might be older than her sister, but OMIGOD! didn't cut it!

"Have you got her?" A female voice interrupted. "Did she get here all right?"

"Yeah, Ginny," Charlie called, waving someone over. "Willow didn't bother telling us that she had read the books..." he glanced down at Dawn, then added in a lower voice. "Is you-know-who still in the car?" 

"You-Know-Who?" Dawn squeaked, going white.

"Oh crap..."

"Well done, Charlie."

Ron sighed, shaking his head. "Don't worry, Dawn, not that You-Know-Who. Its someone we call you-know-who in the family because he went and got too bloody famous to go anywhere without a media frenzy."

"Yes, he's still in the car," Ginny added. Dawn glanced at her. If she hadn't seen the woman's face, she would have sworn it was Willow. Ginny Weasley was as slim and petite as Willow was. "And we better get back, cos we don't want to look too suspicious, throwing all of us in one car...hi, Dawn! I'm Willow's twin, Ginny," she held out a hand, which Dawn shook as she was hauled to her feet and they set on their way again. "Nice to meet you."

"You too."

"So where is he, sis?"

Ginny pointed to a Ford Anglia. Dawn's eyes bugged for the hundredth time in minutes. "Omigod!" she squealed. "I thought it escaped!"

"This is the second one," Ron grinned. "It's Fred and George's for experimenting with. They turned it into a Port Key for today, though. We can't all be seen travelling it, even if we want to be."

They hurried towards it, a man climbing out of the driving seat to open the boot for Dawn's case.

The brothers started piling into the back seat of the car which was as wide two couches stuck together, while Dawn and Ron went to the back of the car to put Dawn's luggage in.

"All right?" the man standing there said, giving Dawn a grin. 

Holy crap, he was beautiful! And the smile only seemed to make him look even more like he had just stepped out of a commercial.

She almost melted, then she realised...

Realised just WHO she was staring at.

Black hair mussed and waving in the wind over a gorgeous face with a dazzling grin, emerald green eyes twinkling behind wire-framed glasses, a small, lightening shaped scar visible on his forehead...

"You...you're Harry Potter..." she whispered. 

That said, her eyes rolled in her head and she fainted.

Ron, luckily, had managed to catch her.

"Now why is it," he asked, giving his friend a dirty look. "That you're the one that has this effect on women?"

"Stunning good looks?" Harry suggested, as Ron lifted the girl up.

"I'd say it was the bad breath," Ginny chuckled, holding the door open for Ron to climb in. "Honestly, Harry, you had to do the 'I know I'm gorgeous, but just LOOK and see how gorgeous I am' smile, didn't you?"

"I just asked if she was all right," Harry mumbled. "Is it my fault I'm so bloody good-looking?"

"Well, if Ginny would let us, we could change that..." Fred offered, slapping a fist against his palm.

"You're agreeing my husband is good-looking?" Ginny murmured, eyes twinkling.

"Shut up and sit down, Ginny. The car leaves in a minute."

Adjusting Dawn so she was comfortably positioned in Ron's lap, her head on his shoulder, they shifted about until there was a pop and the Ford Anglia and it's nine passengers vanished into thin air.

***

"Omigod! That has to be _the _coolest thing ever!" Harry and Ron exchanged looks, grinning. The American muggle was downright adorable. "I've been on the Hogwarts Express with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley!" 

She had been bouncing all over the compartment of the train for the full journey, pressing her nose against the windows as the countryside flitted by, as well as sticking her head out into the passageway regularly to check for the witch with the trolley.

Ron and Harry had tried to fill her in on the happenings of the wizarding world after the incidents of the tri-wizard tournament, so she knew where, when, what and how Voldemort had been defeated and what she could and couldn't say in front of people.

Ron was following her down onto the platform. "Wait until we get to the boats."

"The boats?" Dawn turned to look at him, as she climbed down from the train onto the platform. It was evening by the time they had reached Hogsmeade Station, the three-quarter-moon shining above them. The American girl had been given a set of Ginny's deep blue robes, which she was wearing with delight, and they rustled around her in the light breeze that swept along the platform.

"HARRY!" the thunderous boom of a voice from further down the platform made the girl nearly jump out of her skin. "RON!" She swung around and saw who was speaking before they did.

"Hagrid!" she managed to gasp, staring.

"A' righ', you two?" Both Harry and Ron, at over six feet tall, were hardly light but the giant hoisted them both up in a warm hug that left their feet dangling a good foot off the ground. "An' who is this?" he asked warmly, placing both men back on their feet.

Straightening his glasses, grinning, Harry brought Dawn beside them. "This is Dawn Summers, from America, Hagrid," he said. "She's going to be staying at Hogwarts for a while."

"HOGWARTS!?!?"

Ron and Harry both groaned.

"I knew there was something we forgot to tell you," Ron said, shaking his head.

"I-I-I'm going to _the_ Hogwarts?"

"Bet you anything she says 'omigod'," Harry muttered. "Yes, Dawn, the wizard school you're being sent to is Hogwarts."

"OMIGOD!"

"Good guess, Harry," Ron grinned. "You got the boats out and about, Hagrid?"

"Got enough for us," Hagrid was looking at Dawn with a twinkle in his black eyes, as he held out a massive hand to her. She managed to grip one giant finger with her whole hand. "Nice to meet yer, Miss Summers."

"Call me Dawn," she grinned up at him. "Do you like dragons?"

Once again, Ron and Harry groaned.

***

Dumbledore was seated at the teacher's table, when the doors of the Great Hall opened. The evening feast was going on, so there were a few puzzled looks, because everyone was supposed to be in the Hall.

Glancing sidelong at the youngest Weasley, he met her eyes and nodded. The red head was on her feet in a heartbeat and her hands came to her face, as she ran around the edge of the Gryffindor table to the centre aisle. 

"DAWNIE!"

At the far end of the hall, a nervous-looking brunette teenager's mouth fell open and she started to run down the long hall, Willow running towards her, both of them laughing as they parodied several paces of slow-motion sprinting. "WILLOW!"

Crashing into each other's arms half way up the hall, Willow hugged the younger girl tightly, then held her at arms length to examine her. 

"Willow! Omigod, Willow!" Dawn was excitedly gripping Willow's hands with her own. "We're at Hogwarts!" She pointed to the roof. "OMIGOD! It's just like in the books and with the ceiling! And the stars!" Her eyes went to the teachers table. "And Dumbledore and everybody!" Waving excitedly, she received smiles and waves from a brown-haired witch and a sandy-haired man. "This is _so_ cool!"

"And look at you! All robey!" Willow tugged at the blue robes. "Did you steal these off Ginny?" Dawn nodded, grinning. "And my brothers...they didn't scare you too much, did they?"

"They are _so_ cool! I always wanted to meet the Weasleys and now you're a Weasley! Oh! That reminds me! Ron! Harry!"

Willow gave a loud squeal of delight, when she saw her brother and brother-in-law in the doorway, running the rest of the length of the hall and throwing herself at both of them. "Harry! Ron!"

Both men went beetroot when she splattered kisses all over their faces, then grabbed Harry's head between her two small hands and planted a very, very naughty looking kiss on him.

Many of the pupils were staring in shock.

So were many of the teachers.

Except Hermione and Lupin who looked like they were going to have embarrassing accidents if they didn't get to a toilet very soon, both of them were laughing so hard at the stunned look on Harry's face.

One of the greatest legends of their life times was standing at the top of the centre aisle of the Great Hall, scarlet in the face, being kissed in a more than just-good-friends-or-in-laws way by one of the other legends of their times.

Dumbledore, at the head of the hall, chuckled and clapped his hands. He managed to draw about a fifth of the audience's attention. 

"Yes," he called out. "We have some very special guests present today, and if Miss Weasley would be kind enough to disentangle her tongue from Mr Potter's, we might be able to introduce them."

"Easy, tiger!" Ron hauled the grinning Willow off the scarlet Harry. "Does Ginny know you play tonsil-tennis with her Mister?"

"Can't play tonsil tennis, Ron," she smirked. "No tonsils." 

"And mum says you're nice..."

The red-haired witch just laughed, looping her arm through her brother-in-law's and her brother's. Harry, however, shifted uncomfortably and straightened his glasses more times than was really necessary.

"What was that about?" Harry muttered to her, as she breezed down the aisle with them both.

"What? Oh! The whole me-licking-your-mouth-and-biting-your-ear?" Her eyes were twinkling naughtily at him. "Oh admit it, Harry, you've been meaning to leave Ginny for me since the first day you saw me..."

Harry's mouth dropped open and the red that was fading from his cheeks returned full force, as they reached Dawn. "W-Willow..."

"I'm teasing, Harry," she laughed, leaning close to him, as she loosed her arm from Ron's. "Although," she added in a husky murmur that made Harry's brows ascend to his hairline. "You are a nummy treat..."

"What's got into her?" Ron asked, shaking his head in his sister's direction. 

Dawn shot a look at the table where Willow had been sitting before she began her dash up the hall and snickered. "Oz, apparently."

Ron looked down at the girl beside him, then at his sister. "Eeuuurgh! That's just given me an image I didn't need before I eat!"

"I always wanted to hear how you said that," Dawn grinned up at him.

"What? That my sister shagging a wolf puts me off my dinner?" A few pupils gaped at him and he grinned at them. "Don't worry!" he said importantly. "Famous Ron Weasley is allowed to have a gutter mouth and mind."

"Ron Weasley!" A Hufflepuff exclaimed, before going as red as Harry had.

Dawn giggled. "You know," she muttered to him conspiratorially. "With all these famous people around, I think its gonna be a real fun meal."

They came to a halt in front of Dumbledore at the head table, Dawn's eyes growing enormous as she stared at him. He gave her a wink, as he stood up, visible to everyone in the Great Hall.

"As you can all say, we have been graced with the presences of Mr. Harry Potter and Mr. Ronald Weasley," he looked down at them both with fondness. "For those of you who do not know which is which, Ronald is the one with red hair, while Harry is the one with the red face."

"Git," Harry moaned.

"I try, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore muttered with a chuckle, then looked down at Dawn. "We also have a short term visitor with us from the United States of America and, as you saw, she is a friend of Miss Weasley's," He motioned for her to step onto the step that the Teacher's table stood on. "This is Miss Dawn Summers."

Waving around, Dawn was smiling so widely it felt as if her face would crack. "Hi!"

"She will be staying with Professor Granger and Miss Weasley, but may be attending some of your classes as an observer," Professor Dumbledore said, as she hopped down. A few teachers were leaning forward for a look at her. "I trust you will all make her welcome."

"WHOOHOO!" Someone yelled from the Gryffindor table. "Go Dawnie!"

"What _has _wolf-boy been slipping her?" Ron pondered aloud.

"Ron, if you don't know that by now, I'm not gonna be the one to tell you," Dawn said, grinning.

Harry and Ron both turned horrified eyes on the girl. "Stop that!" Ron pointed a finger at her. "Stop that now!"

"Actually," a voice called from further down the teacher's table. Hermione gave them a wave. "Willow's just a little...um...exuberant, because they were doing some confidence charm work with her today..."

Ron, Harry and Dawn all nodded and said, "_Ah_..."

"See," Ron said primly to Dawn. "Nothing kinky at all."

Dawn cleared her throat loudly and nodded towards Willow, who was in a very intense lip-lock with her boyfriend. "Yes, Ron," she nodded sagely. "Willow is a good little witch who would never pull a werewolf's tail..."

Ron and Harry both choked and went red.

Dumbledore actually giggled behind his hand.

By far the oddest sound, though, was the quiet chuckle from a man Dawn recognised as soon as she turned to see who had laughed.

Snape.

There was a wicked glint in his black eyes and he was smirking at Ron and Harry, who were both red in the face looking utterly horrified and flabbergasted by what Dawn had said.

Dawn smirked back at him. She couldn't help it. She was a teenager and if she could embarrass people, then get Snape - evil, scary, loomy master of the cranky - to smirk and snigger at them...

Oh, boy, was she going to have fun!

***

"Oh God..." Willow's charm had finally worn off and she was lying on her bed, her face buried in a pillow, her voice muffled. "Kill me now..."

Dawn grinned from where she was unpacking. "Why, Will? Its not like you did anything uber-embarrassing like...oh, I don't know...sticking your tongue in Harry Potter's mouth..."

The red head gave another anguished wail and shoved her head under her pillow, kicking her feet against the mattress. "I told them to leave me here! I told them not to take me anywhere!"

The brunette couldn't help smiling. 

She felt like she was home already.

After the meal - and Hermione prising Willow off Oz with a spell - she had been shown to the room she would be sharing with the two older witches, until she got settled enough to be fitted into one of the house rooms if she wanted when she had made some friends.

Apparently the room had been enlarged to fit a third four-poster bed into it. When she walked in the door, Dawn had been greeted by the end of her bed. Hermione's stood to one side, Willow's to the other.

It was incredible!

The bed was the most comfortable thing she had ever had, with thick, blue and gold blankets and she had thrown herself down on it and didn't stop bouncing for a full two minutes. 

Now, though, she was unpacking and placing her clothes into a chest of drawers beneath the window-seat, while trying not to get distracted by the fact she was - eep! - at Hogwarts!

"Knock-knock!"

"Ron!"

Ron grinned as he entered the room, then whistled. "Blimey...now I know why you never visit ho...Will? You are aware your head is being eaten by a pillow?"

"Go away," Willow moaned. "I'm dying of embarrassment under here."

Hermione squeezed past Ron with Oz, both of them carrying fresh towels and some supplies for Dawn. "She's even worse than the time Dumbledore let her know that he knew she and Oz had been...er...cuddling outside on the far side of the lake..."

"Nooooooooooooo..." the moan came from under the pillows.

"Willow Weasley!" Ron gasped, looking scandalised. "You _cuddled _outside?"

Sitting up, her hair on end, Willow looked over at Hermione. "You know the Avada Kedavra thing, right?" She pointed at herself. "Willing test subject - do it. Kill me now and quickly, before anything else is mentioned."

"What about slippery nipple?" Oz murmured, eyes twinkling.

"WHAT!?!" Ron and Dawn both shrieked.

"Hemione! Why did you tell him about that?" Willow wailed in despair, flopping back on the bed and lifting the pillow over her face. "It's what you need for opening a nun painting..."

"You have to have one? Cos if you need one, I'm pretty sure you could both ask Harry for a hand with that...or a tongue..."

"RON!" Both Hermione and Willow squealed and Ron marked a one tally in the air, grinning. Dawn was doubled over laughing, her cheeks and stomach hurting from laughing so much and so hard.

This was definitely way cooler than being stuck at home.


	30. The Key To Wolfy Goodness

THE KEY TO WOLFY GOODNESS

Notes: I wrote some of this absolutely months ago and finally got around to slotting it into the sequence of chapters (although I did have to adapt a Dawn-esque sequence into it). I just liked the whole idea of the pair of characters in this and it certainly made it easier to manipulate the plot in the direction I wanted to go. 

Plus the cuteness!

All hail the cuteness!

Oh and if you haven't seen The Chamber of Secrets yet, I command you to go and see it now! Leave the fic and go and see the best film in AGES! I've seen it 3 times already and I plan to see it several more at least. It is so freaking GOOD! (and the little thing after the credits is so cute! I think its funny, even if no one else does) 

And now, I know what Malfoy Senior is like a la Jason Isaacs... see me twitch in a drooling heap on the floor. Add Rickman's Snape, Coulson's Riddle and (albeit a tiny bit older) Felton's Draco to the mix and I'm literally senseless for hours! Guuuuuuuh!

______________________________

"Omigod! This is _so_ cool!"

Duncan Cameron, the brown-haired Gryffindor fourth year who had been assigned as Dawn Summers' companion for her first day in class, flashed a grin at her. "Ye really say that a lot, don't ye?"

The pair were walking up from the Great Hall, on their way to Defence Against the Dark Arts, which the brunette was looking forward to, just because she hadn't had a chance to meet Professor Lupin yet.

Duncan was one of the first ones that had volunteered when Professor Granger had asked for someone to show Dawn around and the American muggle had been pleased to find out that he was cute and had a way too cute Scottish accent.

He was one of the few boys of her age who was taller than her, with a shaggy mop of dark brown hair, brilliantly blue eyes that seemed very pale compared to his tanned, brown as a berry face.

Apparently, he also played as one of the Beaters on the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

He kind of made her think of a combination of Harry, Ron and one of the Weasley twins, but she didn't know which. He had Harry's kinda look and attitude, with Ron's friendly grin and from the twins side of things...

Pranks.

Lots of them.

"Yeah? And?" She gave him her best petulant look, which melted away into a grin when he snickered at her. "Well, it is cool! I mean I'm at Hogwarts! School for witches and wizards!"

"Aye," Duncan raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Its still just a school."

"_Just _a school?" she echoed. "JUST a school? Duncan! It's Hogwarts!"

"And?"

"AND?!?"

Blue eyes twinkled at her. "What?"

"Oh, you...you...boy!"

"Glad to see ye noticed," he remarked, nodding into the classroom. "And this is where we're headed, Miss Summers," She arched a brow at him. "All righ', all righ', then Dawn."

"Thank you, Duncan," she said with mock-sweetness, following him into the room which was empty but for the teacher writing on the blackboard, behind the desk at the far end of the room.

A dozen rows of old-fashioned, wooden desks crossed the room with an aisle down the middle, which Duncan promptly lead her down, towards the back of the teacher, who turned as they approached.

He was a tired-looking man, who Dawn recognised immediately. Greying sandy hair flopped over a forehead that was lined with premature age and weariness, but his pale blue-grey eyes were alert and shining with energy his body - clad in patched and frayed robes - didn't seem capable of possessing.

"Ah, Cameron," Lupin murmured, his eyes moving from the boy to Dawn. She saw the barely perceptible lift of one of his eyebrows, as he studied her, then he smiled and held out a hand. "Miss Summers."

"God! Doesn't anyone use first names here?" she rolled her eyes, but shook his hand anyway. "Can you...you know...call me Dawn? I'm not real used to all that Miss Summers stuff. It makes me sound way old."

"I'm sure I can try that, Dawn," Lupin's tiny smile widened a little. "Now, perhaps you would like to sit with Mr Cameron. I'm sure he'll be more than willing to let you share his books."

Duncan went scarlet and Dawn grinned. "That'd be great."

***

"I know this one! I know this one!" Remus Lupin looked down at the Summers girl in amusement, where she was seated in the second row. She was waving an arm in the air and was practically standing up off the seat. "I know it!"

Several of the other fourth years looked surprised and put out that a muggle was wiping the floor with their general knowledge of demons, but in particular, one kind of demon that they had been discussing.

"Yes, Mi...Dawn?"

"Four of the regular ways of killing a vampire," she replied eagerly, sitting back down, her eyes dancing. "Are a stake through the heart, cutting it's head off, setting it on fire or making it drink Holy Water!"

"How do you make a vampire drink Holy Water?" one of the Slytherin boys sneered from three rows behind.

"Well, duh, lame-ass," Dawn turned to glare at him. "You make sure he needs to take his meds, then put Holy Water in the glass when he isn't looking and when he drinks it, he'll go all dusty."

"As if that kind of muggle trick would work," one of the boy's neighbours said.

Dawn Summers' blue eyes flashed and she clenched her hands on the desk in front of her. "It did too work!" she exclaimed hotly, then blushed when she realised all eyes were on her. "She told me all about it!"

"Who?"

"Uh..." An anguished look crossed the American girl's face, then she glared at the Slytherin boy. "I...I don't need to tell you, you dork!"

"Miss Summers," Lupin's calm voice intervened. "Perhaps you could inform give us some more details about the other methods of slaying a vampire. A stake through the heart, for example. Can you describe how that works?"

"But he..."

"Miss Summers," Lupin repeated gently. "I would suggest that you ignore his attempts to aggravate you. Now, we are all on the edges of our seats. How would you go about staking a vampire?"

Dawn looked down, a little embarrassed, her eyes falling on the pencil lying on the desk in front of her, rolling it under her fingers. "I-I did hear of someone who staked a vampire with a number two pencil..."

"Is that so?"

"Mmm-hmm...she got caught by this wacko-girl. My sister doesn't think I know about it, but I do and they had vampires and..." Lupin sat back with a small smile as the dark-haired girl started to tell the tale he had heard from Willow not so long before, the class riveted. 

Even the Slytherins were paying close attention, he was amused to note. 

***

"And what, pray tell, are you doing here?"

Dawn blinked up at the tall, glowering black-garbed man. "Uh..." She had so many ideas for witty answers, so many quick come-backs, so many teenagerisms, but now, her mind felt as useful as a bag of cotton wool, black eyes glittering down at her.

"A quiet student...or a stupid one. What a refreshing change," Sarcasm dripped off the words in nigh-visible ropes.

"Hey! I'm not stupid!" Dawn exclaimed.

"That remains to be seen," Snape murmured, folding his arms over his chest. He was blocking the narrow doorway of the dungeon and beyond him, she could see Duncan helplessly shrugging that he couldn't do anything.

She didn't really like the idea of being left out in the long, dark corridor, especially without someone to tell her how to get back to the picture that lead up to the room she shared with Willow and Hermione.

"Well?"

"Huh?"

"I asked a question of you, Miss Summers. I would... appreciate an answer."

"Can you...uh...kinda stop glowering for a minute? Its making it kinda hard for me to think"

One dark eyebrow rose a little, as if questioning how she dared to even ask him such a thing. "Miss Summers, my facial expression bears no relation to your inability to form a cognizant thought."

"Uh-huh...have you tried thinking when there's a creepy big guy doing the loomy, dark and evil thing over you?" She paused, seeming to remember something she had been told about him. "Uh...never mind..."

"Miss Summers, you have not answered the question."

"Uh...well," she stammered, trying to find a rational train of thought, staring down at her feet uncomfortably. "I'm meant to go everywhere with Duncan today and I...uh...I guess since he...he...uh...he came down here, I had to come with him." 

"Such an enchanting stammer you have..."

Dawn shot an embarrassed glare up at him, but was greeted by an amused gleam in the black eyes. Her arms instinctively folded across her chest in basic glare-posture, her stance almost mirroring his.

So he was toying with her?

Pursing her lips, she glared right back at him. "Let me in."

"Do you have a reason to be present, Miss Summers?" He slowly raised his brows, one side of his mouth lifting in a sneer.

Dawn almost snorted aloud. Hello! One of her best friends was a vampire, for God's sake! She wasn't going to be scared of a big, loomy human in a black dress. "You mean apart from hanging out and bugging the crap out of you?" she suggested.

Both sides of his mouth twitched, as if he were about to smile, but he thinned his lips in a line. "Well, well, Miss Summers," he remarked. "It appears that you do have a tongue in your head after all."

"Yeah," She stuck it out at him. "Thee."

"How very mature," he said. "I could well use that in a potion. How would that suit you Miss Summers?"

"I'd like to see you try it," She grinned up at him. She couldn't help it. This was Snape? He of the terrifying reputation that she had read about? He was just like Spike with greasy black hair and black eyes. Spike had threatened to rip her tongue out on more occasions than she could count, when she pulled faces at him and when he knew Buffy wasn't listening, which only made Dawn stick it out even more. "But I don't think Dawn-tongue-soup is gonna be a big seller."

There it was again!

That odd glint in his eyes, as if he was about to smile or even laugh.

"Sooooo..." She tapped a foot impatiently. "You gonna let me in already or do I have to go and cry to Professor Dumbledore that you're being mean to me?"

Stepping aside, Snape smirked down at her. "I do have need of an assistant, Miss Summers," he murmured for her ears only. "Alas, it may result in you being shape-shifted, but I'm sure you shall be willing to risk it."

"Nuh-uh!" She pointed a finger up at him. "You turn me into anything icky and I will _so_ kick your ass!" He looked down at her, reminding her that she barely reached his shoulder in height. "Okay, maybe your ankle..."

Snape made a dismissive gesture with one callused hand. "Join your classmate, Miss Summers," he said quietly, his eyes boring down on her. "Or I will be forced to have you test my potions. Personally."

As she hurried over to join the nervous-looking Duncan, Dawn shot a smirk back at Snape, as he stormed towards the front of the class. It went unnoticed by the rest of the class, who were hastily arranging their potions ingredients.

Sweeping to his desk, he slowly sat, gazing coolly at her. 

Then, to her surprise, he inclined his head with the barest suggestion of a smile and looked away from her, at the register.

"What was he sayin' to ye, Dawn?" Duncan whispered.

"He said he was gonna use my tongue in a potion."

"Oh my gawd..." The boy went whitish green.

Dawn grinned. "I think he was joking, Duncan."

"Dawn, Snape and jokes...they're two things that never ever meet. Ever." 

"Well, if he does take my tongue, I'll tell you first."

"Dawn..."

"Yuh-huh?"

Duncan shook his head. "Never mind," he replied.

***

"So you had fun?"

"Omigod! Yes!"

Hermione, lying on her belly on her bed, was marking scrolls. She glanced at the bed were Dawn and Willow were sitting, talking about the younger girl's day. "And you managed to survive potions, unlike the famous missing Weasley?"

"Shut up, Hermi," Willow stuck her tongue out.

"Lowlow..."

"Don't call me that!" 

Hermione gave her roommate a prim look. "Well, then, don't call me Hermi."

Willow sniffed, looking very put out. "I thought it was kinda cute..." she mumbled, pouting down at Dawn, who couldn't help laughing, then stuck her tongue out at Hermione again. 

The youngest Weasley and Dawn Summers were both clad in their loose pyjamas, Dawn's red and Willow's pale green, comparing notes on different classes. Dawn was lying on the bed, looking up at the red head and she grinned.

"I did that to Snape," she said.

"And he didn't...y'know...go all scary on you?"

"Well, he did say he wanted to use my tongue in a potion..." she said. "But he was joking. I think he thinks I'm funny," she pensively tapped her pen on the cover of her diary. "Funny in a ha-ha way, not funny in a 'back away slowly and try and find a weapon' way."

"That makes two of you to get on Snape's good side, then," Hermione remarked. "I think that has to be some kind of record."

"I bet he'd get on great with Buffy," Dawn muttered. "Her and skanky men in black always seem to get on well...Angel, Dracula..."

"D-Dracula? _The_ Dracula?"

Both Willow and Dawn looked over at the brown-haired witch on the other bed. "I forgot to tell you that Dracula showed up in Sunnydale?" Willow gave the older witch an apologetic look. "I got a letter about him from Buffy...I thought I told you."

"No...no, you never mentioned it..." Hermione looked a little stunned. "Dracula is real? I mean, I knew vampires existed, but I never knew that Dracula was a real one, especially since he was so famous..."

"That's why he went to Sunnydale," Willow grinned broadly. "Because Buffy was almost as famous as him in the demon world. He had to try and beat her, to show that he was the ultimate King-of-Badness. She staked him twice and she still doesn't know if he's gone."

"Speaking of gone, where's Oz?" Dawn inquired. 

Willow nodded towards the window, where the moon was peeking through a chink in the thick, dark drapes that shielded the lighter gauzy ones. "Full moon tonight, so he thinks he'll be a bit safer being away from us."

"There's an understatement if ever I heard one," Hermione muttered, rolling up the last of the scrolls and bundling them into her teaching bag. "A werewolf being safe around people..."

"You've never seen Oz at the full moon? I thought he had been here a while!" Dawn stared at her. "He's learned neat new tricks! He doesn't even have to turn into the wolfy thing anymore."

Hermione looked up, slowly coming onto her knees on the bed. "He can...control the wolf?" she asked faintly.

"Yuh-huh!"

"I-I've never seen him do it, but he told me he can," Willow affirmed. "He doesn't trust himself to be in full control around all of us, though. He didn't want to risk any of us getting hurt."

"Didn't he say he was going to see Remus?"

"Yeah..."

"All I have to say is that it's awfully lucky that Remus has a constant supply of wolfsbane potion," Hermione said seriously. "Or else Oz would probably have a real fight on his hands."

Willow's face twisted in distress. "Remus wouldn't hurt Oz..."

"Remus wouldn't, but the wolf might..."

"Nuh-uh! Remus can control it too!" Dawn protested. "That's what the wolfsbane potion does. I read about it!" Both older witches looked at her, then Willow started to giggle, a little hysterically. "Wha?"

Pointing at Hermione, the red head laughed. "That's what she always said!"

"Not always!"

"Most of the time!"

"But I'm right," Dawn interrupted again. "Wolfsbane potion means his mind stays in control. Oz'll be fine and he'll tell Professor Lupin how to do the no-wolfy-thing and everything'll be great!"

"You...you think so?"

Dawn nodded. "Definitely."

***

Carefully pushing open the door of the office, Oz's face was washed in a strange sheen of blue from the full moon, through the window. He looked around the room, immediately spotting the form of the man he had come to see.

A large desk stood near the left wall, the shelves on the opposite wall piled with all manner of books and files. A rug was spread on the main part of the wooden floor, a couple of upturned seats pushed into the corner out of harm's way.

It was on that rug that the man he had come to visit lay.

The large werewolf was lying on his belly on the floor, his muzzle resting on his forepaws. The moonlight played across the fur of his back as it rose and fell with each breath Lupin took.

He looked like he was asleep, at peace, his whiskers twitching occasionally. His bushy tail swept from side to side on the rug, his claws making soft clicking noises on the wooden floor as he stirred.

"How's it going?" Oz spoke softly.

His assumption that Lupin was - in fact - awake proved to be accurate. Pain-filled amber eyes slowly flickered opened and the wolf's head rose, staring up at the youth at the door.

Lupin's jaw dropped, revealing twin rows of yellowish fangs and his head swung sharply to look out at the full moon that was gleaming through the window, then back at Oz's face.

Rising slowly, he padded painfully across the room, limping on one forepaw, towards the younger werewolf, circling him curiously.

Halting in front of the rainbow-haired young man, he sank down on his haunches, tilting his head to the side, wishing that he could actually convey all the questions that he longed to ask.

Oz went down on one knee, running a hand over Lupin's head. 

"You want to know why I'm not all fuzzy, right?" The werewolf nodded mournfully, looking down at his own furred limbs. "Tibetan monks."

If he could have, Lupin would have raised an eyebrow.

Instead, though, he looked away from this youth, feeling something strangely akin to shock and anger. Not directed at the boy, but at himself.

Making his way back across the floor, he moved around in a circle, before curling up on the rug, his no-longer wagging tail pulling in tightly against his thigh, reflecting the moroseness that had descended on him.

"You never learned how to, I guess," Oz stood up. "It took a long time," He looked down at the werewolf. Lupin looked away, turning onto his side and staring at the wall opposite him, the moonlight on his face. "Hurt as much as the change at first, but you get used to it."

Shrugging his jacket off, Oz turned and hung it on the peg on the back of the door, then returned his attention to Lupin, who was staring blindly at a knot of wood on the skirting board in front of him.

Crossing the floor, the younger werewolf disentangled one of the chairs from the pile in the corner and placed it on the floor. 

Sitting down on it, pulling one foot under his body, he gazed up at the gleaming moon pensively, the multiple panes in the frame making dozens of small images of the white orb dance across the frame and ledge.

"I hated it for a long time. Knowing what was coming," His voice was low, quiet. "I thought about killing myself too. Imagine." He shook his head sadly. "For three nights of Hell a month, I was willing to die."

He fell silent, touching the charms and beads that had been placed along specific lines of his body by his tutor at the monastery. He wore them constantly, to control and contain the wolf.

Sometimes they hurt, like this night, when the moon was at its peak.

Blood often came too, when his body struggled with the beast inside.

Usually, it came from the skin untouched by beads and wards, where the wolf was trying to break through in small areas. He was used to it now, but that did not make it any less painful.

A whimper of pain from the wolf on the floor made him look up, startled by the sound in the silence that had surrounded them.

"Professor Lupin?" The huge shaggy head shook in dissent that anything was wrong, eyes closed. The face turned away from his in an attitude of pain and a struggle not to show it. "Professor?"

A cautioning growl escaped the shuddering wolf.

Ignoring it, Oz knelt quickly and laid his hand on the wolf's heaving ribcage and frowned slightly. Something told him that no werewolf should ever be as cold as this one was feeling.

"Are you in pain?" he asked softly, looking around for something to cover the shivering werewolf. Lupin nodded slightly, raising a trembling forepaw which was hanging at a very odd angle. "The change happened too soon?" Again, the big wolf nodded to him. "This may hurt."

There was a dull click as Lupin's bones shifted beneath the youth's hand and then slipped into place. Lupin whimpered quietly, lowering his paw back to the floor, the pain still throbbing in his limb.

Oz had fallen silent, but for the clicking of beads and charms as he sank back from the werewolf. Looking down at his bloody fingers, he inhaled a shaking breath, recalling the chill he could feel in Lupin's body.

No wonder the man always looked so ill after the nights of the full moon.

"You're cold," he said, staring to rise to retrieve the robes hanging on the peg near the door where his own jacket hung, but the Professor's heavy paw halted him, the wolf's head shaking. "But you need to stay warmer."

Mentally sighing, Lupin nodded to his patched, tattered and frayed robes that the young man was intending to go and get. Already, they looked like they could be mended no further.

"Your only robes?" The wolf nodded, looking away. His fur rippled as Oz patted his shaking shoulder in a gesture of comfort. It was at the moment that a thought crossed the younger wolf's mind and he almost smiled faintly, wondering why he hadn't thought of it before.

He loosened the charms at his wrists and ankles, reaching up to deposit them on the chair. The only one that would remain was that at his throat, that prevented his mind from becoming wolfish.

On the floor, Lupin's ear twitched at a strange crackling sound and he lifted his head, about to struggle to look over his shoulder when he felt a warm, furry form press against his back, the warmth spreading to his own freezing body. 

A soft growl against his ear made him start in astonishment. 

That boy, that remarkable, quiet young man, had cast aside his ability to be free of the wolf, to keep him - Lupin - warm. He had partaken of the painful transformation just to make sure he wasn't cold.

A wide, heavily-furred chest pressed against Lupin's back and he felt limbs wrap around his protectively. For the first time since he had started using the wolfsbane potion, the freezing in his bones seemed to thaw and he felt himself relaxing slowly.

A small bark of gratitude escaped him and he felt Oz's wolf-like muzzle rubbing reassuringly against his shoulder as he let sleep come, for the first time since he could recall as a werewolf.

Burying his muzzle snugly against Lupin's shoulder, Oz yawned and - as the moon reached its peak in the clear sky - the beams of light played across two sleeping werewolves, curled together and dead to the world on the floor of the office of the teacher of Defence Against The Dark Arts.

***

When the first fingers of sunlight crept through the windows and softly touched Lupin's peaceful, sleeping face, he grumbled softly, too comfortable and warm to be bothered to move.

However, it was that very comfort and warmth that made his eyes snap open, as he realised that he was not alone.

A slim, fur-free arm was looped around his body, holding him against a smooth, warm chest. His head was resting on another arm and he could feel his limbs were tangled between those of the younger wolf.

Moving slowly, so as not to wake his companion, the teacher eased himself from the younger werewolf's protective blanket of an embrace, moving onto his other side to look at the peacefully sleeping teenager.

Rising quickly, the Professor made his way across to his desk, retrieving his wand and conjuring some blankets, returning to place them around the youth, so as not to embarrass him more than was necessary.

Normally, he would savour the warmth of the morning sun on his skin, but now, he dressed quickly in his tattered robes and quickly sat down at the desk. He found himself hoping that the boy was all right, watching, while he tried to force his focus to the essays he had to mark.

Unfortunately, all thoughts of essays fled from his mind when he heard a yawn from the blanket-wrapped figure on the floor and he saw a shock of rainbow hair rising from the snug nest.

"You woke up before me, huh?" the boy remarked, getting to his feet and holding the blankets around his body. "Either that, or you're a very neat werewolf."

"Neat?" Lupin couldn't think of anything else to say, staring at the young boy. How on Earth could he be so relaxed, so calm and so cheerful - or at least he seemed to be so relaxed - after a night of being the wolf?

"Yeah. I've never known any werewolf that could tuck blankets so neatly around somebody with its paws," A suggestion of a smile appeared on the boy's face. "How do you feel, Professor?"

"Me? I-I'm fine, thank you. You?"

Oz looked down at his blanket-wrapped body, then shrugged slightly. "I'm fur-free, so I'm good," Turning, the twenty-one-year-old walked towards the window and peered out at the grounds. "Nice day."

"It is," There was a long silence and Lupin looked down at the papers on his desk, fingering his quill pensively. "Um…Daniel?" The boy was touching the glass, the sun washing over his face. "Daniel?"

"Oh!" Turning, Oz smiled faintly at him. "Sorry, Professor. I haven't been called by that name for a while." He returned to the desk, pulling over one of the seats from the corner and sitting down.

Lupin folded his callused hands on the surface of his desk, staring fixedly at his knuckles for several minutes. 

"Daniel, I wanted to ask…that is, if you don't mind me asking you…" raising his eyes, he nervously asked. "Do you think I could learn to control the wolf like you have?"

"It isn't hard once you learn how to, Professor."

"Remus. Please, call me Remus."

The corner of Oz's mouth lifted. 

"Remus," He seemed to be testing how the word felt in his mouth. "How about you call me Oz?"

"I-I can do that," Lupin nodded. "Where did..."

"Tibet," Oz replied, pre-empting the question when Lupin fell silent. Somehow, his and Lupin's minds worked in similar ways and they often found they didn't even have to wait for the other to finish a sentence. 

Willow had found it hugely disconcerting. 

"Bit out of the way, isn't it?"

"Beautiful, though. Mountains...so calming..."

Lupin's lips lifted slightly. "Like we need it."

"Everyone does," Oz met Lupin's eyes, as he spoke. "They have a commune there... for ones like us."

There was a long, comfortable silence, during which both men looked towards the window and the sun streaming down onto the wooden floor where they could see the marks of claws in the wood.

"Oz, may I...?"

"Ask away."

"Are you going back?" 

Oz nodded once. "The more you study, the more control you have," he said softly. "Kinda like magic, I guess. It gets less painful each time...and there, everything is about the peace...gotta love the peace..." 

Lupin smiled, understanding that feeling which was so different to every emotion that tore through him at the full moon, to have a quiet smile returned to him by the young man on the other side of the desk. 

"Could I...? That is, if you don't mind."

The younger werewolf gazed back at him. "It'd be...different. Someone I know. Someone who speaks the same language." He cocked his head. "When?"

"As soon as possible."

"Will you tell them?"

Lupin looked down at his hands that were folded on the desk, the sun glinting off the silver strands of hair on the back of his folded hands. "I would have to. They would need to find someone."

"You want to?"

"If it means I can go without the wolf."

They both fell silent for a moment, then Oz sighed, "Willow..."

"She...she won't be too pleased?"

"Given. She knows long-distance is hard, but...God. I didn't want to do this to her again," He released a soft breath, a wrinkle appearing in his smooth brow. "She knew that I would be leaving again. I did too. We pretended it wasn't going to happen."

Lupin bowed his head. "Shall we tell them?"

Oz nodded, looking a little sad, his pale eyes on his hands, which were resting in his lap. "Best to do it now. It'll make it harder if we put it off," he sighed. "She deserves more. If I tell her...maybe she'll find it. With someone else."

The older werewolf could sense the pain that saying those words caused the younger wolf. Despite the young man's stoic face, he could literally see the young wolf's heart shattering through his eyes. 

Tilting his head, he asked quietly. "You're sure you want to do this?"

Oz raised his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, exhaling a long sigh. 

"It has to be done," he said quietly. "I can't stay. I never could. Even if I wanted to, there's too much of the wolf in me. I can't make her live with it. I would prefer to explain it now, while we still at least have a friendship than break her heart in the long run. Bitterness isn't good."

Lupin gave him a sympathetic nod. 

"I'll find Dumbledore. He probably knows already, but I should tell him..."

Together, they rose, Oz returning to his seat to retrieve his clothing, while Lupin made his way to the door. 

"See you at dinner?"

Oz nodded, giving him a tired smile. 

"Good luck."

"You too."

***

"I-I-I understand."

"Willow..."

Tears spilled from her green eyes down her cheeks that were almost chalk-white, her hands resting limply between his. "You...I thought you had come back...to stay...not to go away again..." she whispered. "But I-I-I guess...I guess if this is important...you should go...do it..."

"I didn't want to hurt you, Willow, but last night...I saw what I must look like...what I really am, when I saw Remus," Oz's hands cupped her face. They were sitting on her double bed, sunlight washing in over bother of them. "You...we both know that it can't work...I'm too much the wolf...you deserve someone...someone normal."

"What if I don't want normal, Oz?"

"Willow, please..." He brought their foreheads together, closing his eyes. "I want you to have a chance to be happy. To find someone who can love you as much as I do, but who won't have to be caged...who won't have this...beast inside them..."

"But I love you, Oz," she whispered, her tears burning against his hands, one of hers coming up to grasp his wrist. "I don't care about the wolf...you said you can...you control it...you said you can!"

"I did and I can," he agreed softly. "But it is powerful. One day, it will break free and I don't want you to get hurt when it does," Her other hand rose to touch his face, capturing the tears rolling silently down. "I love you too much for that."

"But I'll be able to stop you! I will! I-I don't want you to go, Oz..." Her eyes sought out his desperately. "Please?"

"If you had to," He brought her hands down in his, meeting her tear-filled gaze. His voice was shaking with emotion. "If I did lose control, if I was about to harm you, if nothing else worked, would you be able to kill me?" 

"Oz..."

"Would you?" he demanded again, a core of steel in his words.

Willow lowered her eyes, shaking her head. He barely heard her breathe the single word. "No."

A deep silence fell, only broken by the quiet sobs of the red-haired witch. 

Leaning forward, Oz brought her bowed head down and touched his lips to her silky mass of flaming hair, his pale eyes pressed closed to stem his tears as he embraced her once more.

"I love you," he whispered softly. "I always will. Never forget that."

Raising her eyes to him, she touched his face, as if memorising every feature, one last time. "I know," she answered, her voice raw and shaking, tears still rolling down her flushed cheeks. "I love you too, Oz. Always."

Capturing her face between his hands, he kissed her once more, her arms wrapping around him as he drew her closer, all their grief and emotion poured into that meeting of their lips.

Slowly, reluctantly pulling back, he tenderly stroked a tear-soaked lock of her red hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering briefly. Both of them smiled wanly at the contact and she tilted her head to kiss his palm as he drew away. 

"I love you, Will," he murmured once more, before rising off the bed, his fingertips lingering against hers as he stepped back. Then, turning, he walked from the room without looking back, his shoulders shaking as he wept.

In her bedroom, Willow Weasley turned onto her side, buried her face in a pillow and sobbed as she felt her heart shatter in her chest.

***

"I am sorry to see you going."

Lupin nodded. "I would stay, Head Master, but this opportunity..."

"You have already waited too long for it?" Dumbledore suggested gently. Remus Lupin nodded, glancing at the young man standing next to him. They were standing on the front steps of the castle, the sunlight washing over them. "I can assure you both that we will take care of Miss Weasley for you."

"Thank you," Oz's voice broke and he fell silent. His eyes were on the creamy stone of the steps beneath his feet, his face pale and drawn. Like Lupin, his clothing was dishevelled and his colourful hair stood in wild spikes over his face.

"Hermione and Dawn were with her when I went to say goodbye," Remus said, one hand on Oz's shoulder, in a wordless gesture of comfort. "I think they will be the best people for her to have around for now."

Dumbledore nodded in agreement. "She needs to have some friends around her at this time," he said, a thoughtful look on his face. "And now...now, I have to go to the trouble of finding a new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor."

"Severus..."

"Remus, you know very well that Severus will never hold that position as long as we have need of a potions master," Dumbledore said calmly. "And I already have a first choice of Professor, if I can convince her. After all, her presence would be a great aid in this situation..."

The younger werewolf lifted his blood-shot eyes. "Professor, are...would you be able to do that?"

"Of course, Mr Osbourne," the wizard said. His eyes twinkled briefly. "After all, I am the Head Master."

Daniel Osbourne managed a weak smile. "I-I think that would help Willow a lot," he said, then fell silent again.

"Yes..." Dumbledore extended a hand, which both werewolves shook. "Yes, Ii rather expect it might. Now, you do have shelter for tonight? I believe the moon will rise fairly early."

"Sirius was arranging everything, Head Master," Remus replied. "We're meeting him at Hogsmeade."

"Very good," Stepping back, Dumbledore nodded to the horseless carriage that was rapidly trundling towards them. "I bid you a safe journey," he said. "And I would be less than delighted if you did not keep in contact."

"We'll send you postcards, Professor," Lupin smiled. "Take care."

"And you."

Remaining where he was, Dumbledore watched the pair ascend into the carriage, the younger of the two casting a longing look back in the direction of the tower, where he knew Willow Weasley was residing. 

The carriage door closed and it rumbled off into the afternoon light, leaving the head Master of Hogwarts standing on the castle steps, a ponderous look on his face.

If he remembered correctly, the time in America would be approximately seven o'clock in the morning, at least in the region he needed to get in contact with, which was a fairly respectable time.

Smoothing his rich robes down, he cast a brief look up at Gryffindor tower.

Yes, the sooner he set off, the better.

He would inform Minerva and then...

Then, he had to go and offer a powerful young woman the position of Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts.


	31. Call For DADA

CALL FOR D.A.D.A

Notes: Wahey! Things are starting to really come together now! Oh happy day! And considering I already have ten chapters set after this one written, it goes without saying that I want to get further in this series now! (for the record, 27, 28 & 29 are still waiting to be written right now)

And I also believe that the chapter length is going to increase as I go - this chapter is about treble the usual length, simply because I was having too much fun. (And now, I cut it in half cos it was just too big - Gyah!)

I should apologise for the lack of posting this for the last week, but some real-life crisis came up and I had a lot to deal with, with them. So, I can't really apologize when I had so much else to do. Alas, thus is the life of a fanfic writer :-/ 

And good sweet lordie almighty, I am SO getting lynched for what I'm about to do to some of our helpless characters. People are going to kill me. String me up by my guts and leave me dangling…

And I'm going to love every minute :D I'm seriously having far too much fun with this story for any complaints/flames/obscenities to ruin it!

NEW NOTE (18th nov) – the storyline has been tidied up and arranged and, if all goes well, this series should end on chapter 75, or thereabouts. Only 45 more chapters. I only hope you guys can stick with me up till the bitter end! *fingers crossed* I hope you do! You guys make this all the more fun!

________________________________

"Buffy, there's a man at the door for you?"

"Huh?"

"Buffy, down here, please."

Rubbing her eyes sleepily, the Slayer shuffled out of her bedroom, wondering why her mother's voice had such a funny tone to it. After all, it was daylight, so it could hardly be anything of the demony variety.

They had the rude habit of breaking in at night without knocking.

It was barely eight o'clock on a Saturday morning and she had really been hoping for a little extra sleep, which explained why she was still in her baggy pyjamas, her hair sticking up all over the place.

Making her way down the staircase, she could hear her mother talking to someone in the living room, which suggested the man there to see her had been invited in, which made her groan.

Hadn't her mother learned from the whole Spike and Angel business?

Okay, so the guy couldn't be a vampire, judging by the sunlight streaming into the house from all sides, but still...

At the bottom of the stairs, she turned to the right to see her mother standing over the couch, talking to the man sitting upon in the direct sunlight and it was a man that she recognised, her eyes going wide.

Clad in vivid blue and scarlet robes, his long white beard and hair more than a give away, the end of his beard tucked into a wide, brown belt with a gold buckle. He was chatting quite amiably to her mother, his cheeks rosy and he reminded the Slayer a good deal of what Santa Clause was meant to be like.

"Professor Dumbledore!"

Twinkling blue eyes looked over at her. "Ah, Miss Summers," he started to rise in time to get grabbed in a hug by the Slayer, who almost lifted him off his feet. "Oh my, you are rather strong..."

"Oh! Sorry!" 

Deposited back on the floor, he chuckled, adjusting his robes. "Not to worry, my dear," he said jovially, as he sat back down on the couch. "Joyce, dear lady, you mentioned something about a cup of tea?"

Smiling, Joyce nodded. "I'll be back in a minute...Earl Grey is all right, isn't it?"

"Perfect, dear lady."

Dropping down on the couch next to the old wizard, Buffy cocked her head at him curiously. "Why are you here, Professor Dumbledore?" she asked. "I mean, not that I'm not pleased to see you, but you...here?"

"There are three reasons, Miss Summers," he replied. "One part of it is that I wished to report on your sister's progress. She has settled and appears to like the school, although she wanted me to inform you that no one believes you exist."

"Me? Senior Summers sister?"

"No," he chuckled. "You, the Slayer."

"Oh! Right! I'm a legend or something for the kids. That creepy Draco-guy didn't believe in me, but most of the adults I met did."

"Precisely, Miss Summers, which leads me on to my second reason for visiting..."

"It does?"

Dumbledore shifted slightly to look at her directly, his blue eyes serious. "Have you ever considered teaching Defence Against The Dark Arts?"

"Huh?"

"You see," he sighed. "We have a member of staff who wishes to take...I suppose you could call it sabbatical leave. Only, we need to find a substitute for him until the end of this school year at least."

"And this guy teaches Defence Against the Dark Arts?"

"Precisely."

"And you want...me to teach in his place?"

Dumbledore smiled. "If you would like to."

"Me? Teach? But how? I mean, not exactly big in the magic department..."

"Ah, yes, but you have something that few of our previous Defence Against The Dark Arts teachers have, Miss Summers," the Head Master murmured. "You have the experience in the field. You fight the dark creatures on a daily basis."

"But not the kind of things that your people deal with...I dated a vampire and I have friends that are werewolves and ex-demons...I'm not sure that's a good impression to give the kids at school."

"On the contrary, Miss Summers," he smiled again. "I believe it is exactly what the pupils need to make them understand that there are shades of grey in all areas. After all, not all werewolves and demons are bad, which you have shown by your associations with your friends. This is why I believe you would be an ideal candidate for the position. You may be able to quash a little of the prejudice."

"But I can't teach! I wouldn't know how!"

"Wouldn't know how to what, honey?" Joyce Summers re-entered the room, with a tray with cups of tea and a plate of home-baked cookies on it.

"Professor Dumbledore wants me to go and teach at Hogwarts, mom," Buffy replied.

Joyce, sitting down on the opposite side of the low coffee table in front of the couch, looked from the old wizard to her mussed-looking daughter. "I think that would be a wonderful idea, Buffy," she said, smiling. "How often do you get the chance to work at a real magic school?"

"But I don't know magic," Buffy protested adamantly. "How am I meant to teach the kids how to defend themselves by magic, if I can't do any magic."

Dumbledore gave her a knowing smile. "I do believe I have a solution for that little problem," he said. "If I manage to convince you, will you agree to it?"

"Honey, it would make me feel a lot better to know that you were there to look out for Dawn, in case that Glory-person finds out where she is," Joyce put in, giving her daughter a meaningful look. "And it is a once-in-a-lifetime experience."

"I-I don't know...I mean, Slayer...sacred duty..."

"But, be honest, Miss Summers, have you really had so much to do, since the closure of the Initiative? After all, the majority of the demon population were killed in the fray and the only person to really cause you any problems of late has been Glory."

Buffy pulled a face at him. "You have this all worked out, don't you? You're not going to let me say no..."

"Alas," he chuckled. "It appears that you understand how my mind works."

The Slayer ran a hand through her sleep-tangled hair. "All right," she sighed. "You convince me that I would be able to do a decent job as this Defencey person and I _might_ considering coming with you...and that's a definite 'might'."

"If it helps you to make up your mind, Miss Summers, your sister and friend are looking forward to seeing you."

"And I really have no choice in this, do I?"

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled mischievously. "Of course you have a choice, Miss Summers, although, if you do say no, I will be forced to stay here and irritate you until you do agree." 

"You're mean," she muttered, faking a scowl.

"I know," he chuckled. "But don't let word out. It is always awfully amusing to see people's faces when they realise that."

***

"Omigod!"

"Professor, you really are quite clever, despite what I've heard people say," Rupert Giles couldn't help laughing, as Dumbledore primly smiled at him and folded his hands in his lap.

"But Buff...leaving Sunnydale..." Xander's face creased. "C'mon, Buffy, what about the loyal scoobies here?"

The group was seated in the living room of the Summers house, Giles, Anya and Dumbledore on the couch, Buffy perched on the arm beside Giles. Xander was sitting on the edge of the fireplace, while Joyce and Spike occupied the two last chairs.

"That is also a subject I meant to raise with you," the old wizard said. His eyes were twinkling again. "As I am the Head Master and no one can tell me what to do, I wished to extend an invitation to you all, if you wish to join us."

"Bloody hell!" Spike exclaimed. "You want our whole merry band to tag along with you? Are you completely barking?"

"So I have been told on several occasions," Dumbledore smiled. The vampire shook his head, chuckling. "However, my reasoning is actually serious. If this Hell Goddess does descend on Hogwarts, we will need the experts at battling the Dark Side and there are few people more experienced than all of you."

"I'm in."

Buffy and Giles both looked at Spike in surprise. "You?"

The vampire shrugged. "The old wiz here's all right and I wouldn't mind being around to make sure that the Niblet is being looked after right. Kids like a sister to me, y'know," He gave Dumbledore one of his rare, genuine smiles. "You got room for a vampire somewhere in your ruddy great castle?"

"Of course, William," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I have the ideal room for you."

"So who else is coming then? Joyce, pet?" Spike turned blue eyes towards the oldest of the Summers women. He jutted out his lower lip, when she shook her head, trying not to smile at him. "Oh, c'mon, pet! What am I gonna do without you there to make me hot chocolate and put the little marshmallows on it?"

"I'm sure you'll cope, Spike," she replied, reaching across to pat his hand. "But I can't afford to leave the gallery again. I mean, with my being ill, I have really got a lot of work to keep up with, if we're going to keep this house."

"You're not coming, mom?"

Joyce shook her head. "I can't, Buffy. And you know I'm not comfortable with the whole...magic thing, especially after that..." she trailed off, after glancing at Giles, both of them going bright red. Buffy looked from one to the other and snickered. "But you...you can tell Dawn that I'm missing her and when this Glory-business is over, the house'll be waiting for her when she comes back."

"Are-are-are you sure, Joyce?"

"I'm positive," she said. "I trust all of you to take care of my baby for me."

"But mom, what if Glory comes here...?"

"Honey," Joyce sighed with the patience that only a mother can have. "You're the Slayer. She believes you have the Key. If you're not here, she isn't going to come here, is she?"

"But if she does...?"

Spike grinned. "She'll offer hot chocolate with the little marshmallows and give this Glory-bird advice on her love life."

"Oh no, Spike," Joyce smiled. "That's just for you."

"We're coming too!"

"Anya..."

Anya gave her boyfriend a glare. "Okay, I'm coming. If Xander wants to stay here, he can."

The dark-haired youth sighed. "Okay, okay, I guess I'm coming along as well..." He gave Buffy a tired smile. "And it would be kinda neat to see Wills and the Dawn-monster again..."

"I believe Miss Weasley may be in need of your comfort as well," the Head Master said quietly. "Daniel Osbourne has left indefinitely for Tibet. Miss Weasley has not been handling his departure well. That was my third reason for coming."

Xander's face paled, then an expression of determination crossed his features, his hands clenching into fists on his knees. "Why didn't you say about that before?" he demanded. "I have to be there for my Wills."

"Atta boy, Xander," Buffy smiled, then looked at Dumbledore. "She is okay, isn't she? I mean, she hasn't done anything crazy..."

"I left her in the care of Professor Granger and your sister, Miss Summers, so I do believe she is in the most capable hands at the moment," he answered. "Although I do assume this means you will be coming to join us as soon as is possible?"

"Yeah!" Buffy nodded emphatically.

Dumbledore looked around at the little group, smiling serenely to himself. Hogwarts had gotten wildly interesting with the addition of the eighth Weasley and the Key, in the last two months.

Now, that he was adding a Slayer, a Watcher, a Vampire, a muggle and an ex-demon to the mix...

He only hoped that the other members of staff wouldn't kill him.

***

Two days had passed since Dumbledore had visited America and he still hadn't gotten around to mentioning to the full staff body that their new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was on her way, travelling over the weekend.

All right, he had told everyone except Severus, because he really didn't want to have to face the expression on the Potions Master's face. 

Snape wanted the position.

Desperately so.

Dumbledore understood why: Severus longed to make amends for the crimes he had committed as a Death Eater and the only way he could see himself doing that was by teaching their pupils to succeed where he had failed.

That was why the Head master would not give him the post. He had to learn that he had already made amends simply by his actions as a normal teacher. Being one of the D.A.D.A. didn't have to mean absolution.

Shifting at the top of the High table, Dumbledore prodded absently at a piece of pastry soaked in gravy with the prong of a gold fork, distracted by the knowledge that fireworks were about to start, with the group who would be arriving within a matter of minutes.

Regular owls had been arriving from every stop along the journey, letting him know how they were progressing and Hagrid had gone down to collect the little group from Hogsmeade Station.

His eyes rose to the door as they opened and he smiled, starting to rise.

"HOLY CRAP! Look at this place!" 

Ah, there was Miss Summers making her entrance.

"OMIGOD! BUFFY!"

And there was the expected reaction.

Dawn Summers and Willow Weasley both erupted from their seats at the Gryffindor table, Willow smiling for the first time in days, both of them running down the aisle towards the group standing in the doorway.

Squeals and hugs were exchanged between the Slayer, her best friend and her sister, then the rest of the little group joined them and it looked like on massive, multi-armed hug was taking place.

A few of the teachers were looking to the Head Master in expectation, especially one Severus Snape, who had a distinctly suspicious look on his face. Dumbledore gave a mental sigh and hoped that he would be forgiven, yet again.

The group started down the aisle, with a distinct lack of Giles, who was remaining behind for a couple of days to tidy up affairs at the Magic Box. The Head Master was amused to notice a few of the senior females casting surreptitious looks at the tall, angular, blond-haired vampire, who was striding down the aisle.

Of course, he would draw attention.

Tall, lean, dangerous-looking. Of course, all of the older girls would appreciate the cheekbones, the blue eyes and the rebel look that he had about him, right down to the leather duster flaring around him.

There was a sigh from beside him and he looked to his right. Professor McGonagall was gazing at the vampire, her eyes misty with remembrance, and the Head Master stifled a chuckle.

"You know him, Minerva?" he asked.

"Someone who resembled him a great deal, although, the hair is certainly not right in that colour," she replied, a suggestion of a smile on her face, her chin propped on her upraised right hand. "He can't possibly be who I'm thinking of..."

Dumbledore raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Indeed."

The group neared the table and Dawn and Willow both hurried back to their spots, Hermione running down from the High table to help them by conjuring an extra section of table for the group of four.

"Hi, Professor Dumbledore," Buffy smiled and stuck out a hand, which he shook with a smile. "This place is amazing!"

"Yes, we do keep it rather well, don't we?" His eyes twinkled. "I assume you had a safe journey?"

"Bit bumpy on the flight, but hey! No biggie. We got here in one piece." 

Dumbledore nodded. "As I can see," He couldn't help glancing at Anya, who gave him a delighted wave. A smile came to his lips immediately and he turned back to Buffy. "I ought to introduce you," Clapping his hands for attention, even though every eye was already on the group, he gazed around the upturned faces. "We have a new member of staff joining us, today," he announced. "This young lady is Miss Buffy Summers and she is an honorary Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts. She will be your new teacher in this subject."

A wave of murmurs broke out.

Clearly they hadn't expected someone young, blonde, pretty and female to replace a werewolf, but - judging by the grins on some of the boys' faces - they weren't about to complain about it either.

"Hey!" Buffy waved around. 

There was a loud thump from further along the table. Dumbledore glanced along, his lips pressing into a thin line. 

Apparently, Severus' meat knife had somehow got lodged in the thick wood of the table, to the hilt. 

His bone-white hand was still clenched tightly around the thick, wooden handle of the knife, his knuckles jagged peaks of bone almost thrusting through his skin. His right arm shaking fitfully, as if he were trying to jerk the blade free from the wood, while the look on his face suggested that he would prefer it to be lodged in Dumbledore's back to replicate the betrayal that Snape was clearly feeling.

The Potions Master's eyes flashed at the Head Master, who sighed.

"Perhaps you ought to take your seats, Professor Summers," he suggested, nodding towards Willow and Dawn. The Slayer nodded, smiling. Xander and Anya joined her as they headed towards the table, but Spike remained.

He was gazing up at the ceiling pensively.

"You know how this is an enchanted ceiling, mate?" he remarked to Dumbledore, hands thrust deep in the pockets of his coat. "If I come here in the morning and avoid the light from the windows, would I be fried like a crispy critter because of the light from the ceiling?"

The Head Master's blue eyes twinkled jovially. "You would be quite safe," he said with certainty. "After all, what you see in the ceiling is only a representation of what you see outside, William."

"William? B-Billy?"

The vampire looked down from the ceiling at Professor McGonagall. His eyes grew wide and his mouth falling open. "Bloody hell!" he whispered, taking a step towards the table. "Minnie..."

She was staring at him with about the same level of shock, holding out her left hand – which was shaking - to him, which he immediately took in his right and lifted to his lips. "What are you doing here?"

He nodded in the direction of the Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher. "I'm her sample for the kiddies," he answered, shaking his head. "Bloody hell...I should have known you'd be hereabouts..."

"You... you haven't aged a day, Billy..."

"Well, I wouldn't, ducks," he replied, staring at her, his voice only audible to the Head Master and Deputy Head Mistress. He was still holding her left hand with his right. "Being all undead and whatnot. I'm amazed you still remember me."

"From this, I assume you have met?"

They nodded in unison.

"Fifty years ago," Professor McGonagall replied, her voice shaking. "One winter night in Stirling..."

"A football club house, a sudden storm, some impressive right hooks and helluva lot of whisky if I remember correctly," Spike added with a reminiscent grin.

Much to Dumbledore's amusement, Professor McGonagall, one of the sternest teachers in the school, went a flattering shade of rosy pink. "There was rather a lot of whisky, wasn't there?" she had a small smile on her face. "Enough to make you forget about eating me..."

"At least in the way I originally intended, ducks," he purred, the pink glow moving rapidly to scarlet. Dumbledore's blue eyes widened slightly, although he managed to quash a squeak of surprise that rose in his throat. 

"Billy!" she muttered, blushing furiously. "Not in front of the Head Master..."

"I'm no pupil of his, Minnie. He doesn't mind," Spike murmured, still staring at her in disbelief. "You've aged well, too..." he remarked, his thumb brushing across her knuckles. "I s'pose a girl like you is like a fine wine..."

"Flattery all the way," she gave him a wan smile. "Whatever happened to that cocky, arrogant loudmouth who said I knew nothing about bare-fist street fighting and got very drunk with me after that riot at the club?" 

Professor Dumbledore silently made careful and not-so-subtle adjustments to his mental picture of Professor McGonagall.

"You want me to misbehave, Minnie?" Spike widened his eyes, drawing a chuckle from the deputy Head Mistress, who swatted at the hand holding hers. "And in front of all your pupils?"

"Billy, you would misbehave if the Pope himself was standing over you," she said, fondness in her voice.

He gave her a smile. "One night spent in my company and you know me better than I know myself," he said. 

"Ahem..."

Both of them glanced sideways at Dumbledore, who subtly nodded towards the sea of faces staring up at them. Spike was still holding McGonagall's hand in his, a few people looking bemused by the striking blond fornicating with the Deputy Head Mistress of the school.

Shooting a look over his shoulder at the bemused face, Spike chuckled. "How about this, Minnie," he said. "You and me and a bottle of cognac tonight? Reminisce about the good old days and such like?"

"Cognac?"

"What can I say? I has gone and got a bit more refined, has I."

"I'm sure you have, Billy," she still smiled when he lifted her knuckles to his lips, bowing over them. "And I'll see what I have planned for tonight. If I'm not too busy, I'll keep your offer in mind..."

He gave her a devilish grin. "I'll be seeing you tonight then," he purred, before strolling off towards the rest of the newly arrived group.

"Well..." Dumbledore said.

Professor McGonagall looked like she was having trouble keeping a broad grin off her face. Her lips were twitching and she raised a hand to cover her mouth, her green eyes twinkling in the direction of the vampire. 

"What is it, Albus?" she asked, although her voice sounded a little more giggly and girly than it had in many years.

He gave her a look. "Well..." was all he said.

"Have I finally succeeded in...surprising you?" she asked, giving him a thoroughly innocent look.

Dumbledore was hard-pressed not to smile. "It would certainly appear to be the case, dear lady," he replied.


	32. Friends & Fellowship

FRIENDS & FELLOWSHIP

Notes: This was originally the second half of chapter 31, but I figured that I ought to split it to even up the spread a little, so here we have the Buffy crew getting sorted in their new Hogwarts home.

I have an odd feeling I will be cold-bloodedly murdered for what I'm about to do to these people, but this is what I do for fun to take my mind off that nasty thing known as real life. I do it, most specifically, for my own amusement and I am quite happily amused with this, so it's serving its purpose.

Also, for the record, I'm using the books for reference on McGonagall. I don't quite see her as Maggie Smith. More as Miss Hardbroom in the British TV series of The Worst Witch, so definitely not as old as she is in the films of HP. Especially with her black hair! I love the black hair!

___________________________________

"And this is where your room is located, Miss Summers," The Head Master stopped in front of a painting of a golden-haired angel, who waved out at them. "Your sister will be moved down to be in your protection temporarily." 

"How...uh...how do I get in?"

"You simply say the password to the painting and it will open into your private chambers," Dumbledore replied. "Your password is hellmouth for now, but once I have departed, you may change it if you so desire."

"Hellmouth?" 

The painting swung open, revealing an arched doorway which lead into a room that looked warm and glowing, lamps hanging from the ceiling and the walls. 

The Slayer ducked into it and stopped short, staring around, her mouth opening in an 'o' of delight. While not one of the biggest rooms in the castle, it could still easily fit the lower floor of the family home in Sunnydale.

Two four-poster beds stood in it, one to the right and one to the left, hung with blue and gold drapes, the blankets on the beds the same colour. Crisp white pillows were marked with the Hogwarts crest in gold and one of the beds was turned down revealing silky looking white sheets. 

The floor was dark grey stone, but had a wonderful mosaic of colourful rugs of different depths and softness scattered here and there.

Beyond the beds, on the wall to the left, there was a fireplace with two large, comfortable-looking leather chairs in front of it. By the right wall, there was a desk, a couple of chests of drawers and an immense wardrobe, while the wall facing the doorway was lined with deep, wide windows, which Buffy hurried towards.

Looking out, her eyes rounded in awe. They weren't in one of the highest towers, but they were high enough so that she could see out into the grounds of the castle itself, the moonlight giving everything a bluish glow. 

"This is...its amazing..." she whispered. 

Dumbledore, standing in the archway smiled. "I hoped you would like it," he said gently. "But, now, I must get William to his quarters, so I will leave you to settle in. You will be able to find Miss Weasley's chamber by following the hall, to your left, and there is a large painting containing a group of nuns. Knock twice and they ought to grant you entry. If you require anything or if you need any assistance, you have a bell by your bed to allow you contact with the house elves. I have given them special permission to aid you, until you feel comfortable."

"Thank you," the Slayer said sincerely. "I mean...wow..." Climbing up into the window-seat, she looked out across the grounds, not even noticing as the Head Master and her vampire friend departed.

"Nice room you got for her," Spike noted. "Bit roomy for my tastes."

"I thought it may be, William," Dumbledore murmured, motioning for the vampire to follow him. They had already taken Xander and Anya to their room fairly near Willow and Hermione's. "This way."

Going down two flights of stars, into the upper level of the basements, the head Master turned into a narrow passageway, lined on both sides with paintings of all sizes of a variety of dark creatures.

Conjuring a candle, he lead the way halfway down the cool, dry passage and stopped at one of the biggest paintings on the wall, giving the vampire a chance to register exactly what he was looking at.

Spike doubled over laughing.

"Bloody hell...when you said you had the ideal room for me, I think you should have said you had the ideal door..." he laughed, grasping Dumbledore's shoulder. "You really have a nutty sense of humour..."

"So I have been told, William," Dumbledore smiled, giving the password and letting the painting swing outwards. "I hope you will find this room...fitting for your tastes."

The vampire took the candle and stepped into the room, then nodded, a broad grin crossing his face. "Just the way I like it," he said. "Not too much, but not too little either and you even got me a chair!"

"Something suggested to me that you were not exactly the type for hanging clothing up, so I thought it would be easier than the floor."

Spike's grin got wider. "You understand the way I think so well, Professor," he remarked, looking around.

The room was about as large as an average size double room, with a large four-poster bed in the middle of the wall to the right of the door. The drapes were dark, almost black, but the blankets a deep shade of red.

A chest of drawers, crafted of the same dark wood as the bed posts, stood next to the bed, closer to the door. At the end of the bed, the large, black, leather-upholstered chair stood, close to the fireplace that took up a fair amount of space on the wall to the left of the door.

The back wall was occupied by a large painting of a battle, which Spike took one look at and sighed dreamily, especially when a couple of the soldiers starting having a punch-up right in front of him.

"This is ideal," he murmured.

Dumbledore reached into the capricious depths of his robes. "I also went to some lengths to acquire a...I suppose you would call it a room-warming present for you. I am not certain if it will be to your tastes, but..." 

He withdrew a hefty book that was about a foot wide, by a foot and a half long. It had a thick, dark, knobbly-looking leather cover which bore the last flakes of gold leaf, which had once formed words, and heavy parchment pages. The smell of dust and age rose from it and the vampire looked down at it, part-wary, part-curious.

"What is it?" he asked in a voice choked with some odd emotion.

"I did suppose you might recognise a book when you saw one," Dumbledore replied dryly. His eyes were on the vampire's face. If possible, he had gone paler, his lips parted in wonder. "I have had some close friends searching for this for some time now and it came into my hands just a few days ago."

Carefully, Spike took the enormous book in his hands, which Dumbledore noticed were shaking slightly. "I...I've heard of this..." he whispered, opening the thick cover reverently. "I thought it had been destroyed..."

"As did I," the Head Master said quietly. "However, I have no use for it. I believe it may serve a greater purpose in your hands."

"My...my hands?" the vampire's voice caught painfully, then shook his head, pushing the book back into the old wizard's hands. "No...no. You've got the wrong vampire. You should send it to the poof...he'll want it..."

"William," Dumbledore's voice was gentle, but strong. "You know the legend that surrounds this book."

"I know it," he nodded grimly. "But I don't deserve it."

Dumbledore's lips moved into a smile. "That is the answer I hoped that you would give, William," he murmured. He turned and placed the tome on the chest of drawers beside the bed. "Should you decide that you feel worthy, the book will be ready for you to open."

The vampire's eyes stayed on the book, his nostrils flaring slightly.

Dumbledore knew he had offered the vampire something more valuable than any amount of money, but also more dangerous than anything he could even have faced in the demon world.

It was understandable that he might be dubious.

Reaching inside his robes again, the Head Master withdrew a small, rectangular, leather-bound box, about eight inches long and three wide, and placed it on top of the book. "Just in case, William," he said softly. "And if you wish to find Minerva, I shall let her know that you will be in the Entrance Hall in an hour."

"Yeah...yeah. Thanks."

He was still gazing dazedly down at the book on the dresser as the Head Master exited the room, the painting closing quietly behind him.

***

"Why, Miss Emerson, whatever is the matter?"

The former demon started at the voice, whipping around from the window she was staring out of to find the head Master of Hogwarts standing several paces behind her, an anxious expression on his face.

She had been standing in one of the deep window boxes that lined the hall, the moonlight washing down her face. A misty handprint still lingered on the pane, where she had been leaning, looking out over the grounds.

"Oh...I...I...Xander is being a jerk again and we fought and yelled and I left..." She tried to smile at him, but he could see that she had been crying. "H-h-he got mad at me... cos I wasn't upset e-e-enough that Willow's boyfriend dumped her... h-he knows I-I-I don't l-like Willow much...he-he went to find her... and I left...and I had been thinking about how nice it was to be back in the wizard world...but I wish I hadn't brought him, Professor..." 

"Do call me Albus, Miss Emerson," he said as he approached her. She nodded with a little sniff. He offered her a handkerchief and she blew her nose loudly and with great gusto, making him chuckle.

"What?"

"I have seldom heard such a...remarkable sound come from so dainty a young lady as yourself."

She smiled sadly at him, sniffing softly. "Xander doesn't like it when I'm loud or when I'm honest like I was about Willow," she said, studying the handkerchief that was gripped between her hands. "He thinks I should be more like Willow or Buffy. He gets embarrassed because of me."

"I'm sure that is not true, Miss Emerson."

"It is. He gets cranky and tells me to be quiet all the time," Her lower lip trembled a little and tear-filled brown eyes blinked hard. "I-I love him, but he...he is such a muggle sometimes..."

Dumbledore reached out and patted her hand. "I can sympathise, my dear," he said gently. "But now, will you join me for a mug of hot chocolate? I'm sure it will soothe your nerves."

Anya studied the Head Master for a minute, then nodded and smiled. "I would like that, Pr...I mean, Albus. I would like that, Albus." He returned the smile as she took his arm.

***

"I'm surprised you actually came."

"Likewise."

Standing several paces away from one another, the vampire, still clad in his long, black, leather duster, and the transfiguration Mistress both studied the floor beneath them, McGonagall's arms folded over her chest, as she shifted slightly. 

"So..."

"Right..."

There was another prolonged silence.

McGonagall lifted her eyes to glance at him, then looked away. What was she doing? Was she completely insane? Meeting up with a dangerous vampire, who had - not more than fifty years ago - threatened to kill her...

Although, he was allowed in the school by Albus, which meant that the balance had shifted somewhere.

The silence was broken when he laughed.

Even after fifty years, she could still remember that laugh, as if it had only been moments since she heard it. It rang off the walls and high ceiling of the hall and she found herself smiling reluctantly as she looked at him.

"We must look a right pair of bloody tits, eh?" he said, shaking his head, with that familiar devilish grin on his face. His eyes were twinkling with mirth in a way that reminded her a lot of the Head Master. "Standing here like a pair of bloody teenagers on their first date!"

"It is rather...odd, you must agree."

"I'll say, Minnie," he cocked his head at her. "I never imagined I'd see you again, after everything..."

"How many times," she sighed, raising her eyes to the ceiling. "Do I have to tell you to call me Minerva, _Billy_?"

"Well, you punched me a dozen times, last time we met," he smiled. "And that didn't work. I thought you would have given up on it. And don't you start on me, with your bloody 'Billy' crap all over again. I go by Spike now and you know it, Minnie." 

"Of course you do, Billy," she said tartly.

He glanced around the Hall with a grimace. "Look, luv, not to ruin the creepy feeling we have going here, lurking in the shadows and what have you, but is there anywhere in this dump that we can sit and talk like civilised people?"

McGonagall nodded up a flight of stairs. "I have a study near here, although the idea of you being civilised seems almost...obscene."

"Likewise, luv," he chuckled, motioning her to walk with him. "And d'you maybe have some whisky to mark the occasion?" A dark brow rose in his direction, her lips thinning into a narrow line. "Well, you can't blame a vampire for trying, can you?" he grinned roguishly at her.

"Come with me, Billy," she started towards the stairs. He was walking alongside her, but she swung around sharply when one of his hands squeezed her right buttock through her robes. "William..." she cautioned.

He gave her a thoroughly innocent look, withdrawing his hand, biting on his lower lip and raising his eyebrows ceilingwards.

"I wish I could remember why I never staked you," she huffed, turning and hiking her long, green robes up, and stalking up the stairs, although there was no mistaking the glint that had twinkled in her eye when she had chastised him.

***

"Y-you guys should be sleeping...or something...jet-lag and everything..."

"Not a chance, Will," Buffy thrust a pot of ice cream into her friend's hand, along with a spoon. "We brought all this Ben and Jerry's with us for a reason and now, we're going to help you eat it all, until we're sick." 

The Slayer, Willow, Hermione, Dawn and Xander were all piled into Hermione and Willow's bedroom, sitting in the floor space between all the beds, several bobbing illumination charms providing a soft light.

A large pile of colourful pillows had been provided by Hermione, scattered on the floor, as a replacement for a couch, the thick carpet soft and warm around them, none of them aware of the winter chill that was starting to permeate the castle.

"You don't have to..." Willow tried to insist futilely, until a spoon of Phish food was popped into her mouth by Hermione, who gave her a stern look.

"Now, young lady," she said determinedly. "You are going to eat ice cream until you puke, all right? It isn't often we get ice cream in Hogwarts and I'm certainly not going to let you turn it down!"

The red head gave the brown-haired witch an utterly pathetic look. "Mguh..." she mumbled around the spoon.

"If you don't want it, can I have it?" Dawn asked eagerly, reaching for the pot of Phish food, only to be smacked on the hands by Xander and Buffy's spoons and the end of Hermione's wand. "Hey!"

"That one belongs to Willow," Hermione said firmly. She was kneeling beside her roommate and wrapped an arm around Willow's shoulders. "And if anyone is going to eat it, it is going to be her, whether she wants to or not..."

Willow raised her eyes to the older witch. "I really don't get a choice, do I?" 

"Sorry, Will," Hermione gave her a genuine smile. "But you're going to eat it, even if I have to slap it all over my barely clad body and put a spell on you to make you lick it off me."

There was a clatter.

Xander had dropped his spoon.

"Hermione..." Willow moaned, going a little pink in the face.

The older witch grinned at the stunned expression on both Buffy and Xander's faces, her brown eyes dancing. "Let me guess," she remarked dryly. "You never told them you were living with a perverted witch who lives for the soul reason of trying to make you blush daily."

"You...uh...were you joking about that whole ice cream-all-over-barely-clad-body thing?" Xander inquired carefully, retrieving his spoon, his eyes skimming over Hermione's robed body. "Cause if you want to..."

"XANDER!" 

Both Willow and Buffy yelled it, one of them punching his arm, the other hurling a pillow at his head.

Hermione laughed. "Ladies," she suggested, a wicked twinkle in her eyes. "What do you say that we teach Mister Harris a lesson about what classes as civilised conversation, when you're in a room with two witches, a slayer and a key?"

"Oh God! I'm sorry!" Xander was on his feet faster than any of them thought he could move. "Will! Tell her I was joking!" He backed rapidly towards the door, as all four of the young woman rose, grinning.

Even Willow was smiling.

"Will!" he whined.

Exchanging looks with Hermione and Buffy, Willow was the one who yelled it:

"GET HIM!"

***

Had anyone passed the room, the occupants would have quickly been certified.

Professor Minerva McGonagall and the vampire known as William the Bloody had somehow managed to get hold of the bottle of cognac that he had suggested at the feast, earlier than evening and were ever so slightly...merry.

They were sitting in two large chairs - facing one another - in front of a dancing fire in one of the small studies that the teacher used, leaning on a table that stood between their chairs, the nearly-empty bottle between their glasses on the table.

It was a side of the strict teacher that was rarely seen, especially since her last liaison with the vampire sitting with her. In fact, it was partially his fault that she had become as strict as she was, with the hope of resisting the urge to...

Well, the phrase that sprang to mind was to 'give in to the dark side' again.

It was a little know fact that the Transfiguration Mistress and Deputy Head Mistress of Hogwarts had partaken of a somewhat later than average teenage rebellion, when she was in her early twenties.

During that brief period, she had rejoined her family and met Spike.

And now...now, he was easily wrapping her around his little finger again.

Something about the blasted vampire made it impossible for her to resist as he shared the full bottle of expensive - and apparently filched from Dumbledore's own stores - cognac between their two glasses.

She had insisted she would only take one glass. 

Just one.

And she had.

Unfortunately, it had been refilled half a dozen times and it had been so long since she had taken much alcohol...

"You were an arse, Billy...a bloody arse," she wagged a finger in his direction. "I told you it was just that one night..."

The vampire's equally hazy eyes were foggy with remembrance. "Yeah, but what a night it was, eh?" he was studying her. Her black hair was pulled back in a severe knot, but some of the severity had left her features, replaced by a genuine smile that made her green eyes gleam. "By God, you were a tiger, woman..."

"Actually," she almost giggled. "I'm a pussycat..." Despite her inebriated state, she performed a quick shift to her animagus form and back again, the vampire blinking at her in surprise. "See."

"Blimey..."

She shook her head as he started to top her glass up again, but still knocked back the contents at a speed to match him. "I shouldn't be doing this," she noted, studying the empty glass. "I have classes in the morning..."

"You mean we're not going to go staggering off to a sports club house somewhere on the grounds and shag on the gear a few times?" the vampire said, giving her a petulant look, his eyes dancing with amusement. "And I went to all the effort of getting this booze for you."

"You stole it, Billy."

"Yeah, but I still had to make the effort, didn't I? All that for no getting laid..."

McGonagall gave him a small smile. "I am a teacher here, Billy. It would hardly be appropriate, would it?"

"I know, ducks," he replied, picking up the bottle and studying the last trickles of flame-dashed liquid in the bottom. "I'm just teasing you, but just so you know, if you ever feel the urge," his eyes were on his glass. "The offer is open..." 

There was a moment of befuddled silence, when the teacher tried to work out if he was joking or being serious.

Blue eyes rose to hers, twinkling.

"Oh, you annoying, blood-sucking twit..." She stretched across the table and slapped him on the top of his head, smirking when he yelped and batted her hand away. "I must look like such an old hag to you now...fifty years older..."

The vampire leaned back a little, regarding her by the fire light. "I dunno about that, ducks... maybe it's something in that magic blood of yours, but you could still pass for someone in their late thirties."

"Oh, you..."

There was an odd expression in his blue eyes as he tilted his head, gazing across at her. His bottom of his glass rasped as he slowly turned it in circles on the tabletop. "If you hadn't run off the next morning," he finally murmured. "I think I would have kept you, you know...Dru would have killed me, but you were something..."

"Why do you think I ran off, Billy?" She lowered her eyes for a long moment. "I didn't want to die. Certainly didn't want to become one of your kind..."

He shook his head. "You wouldn't have, ducks," he said quietly, her face rising again. Blue eyes met green. "Not you. You had too much fire and spice as a human. I wouldn't want to have ruined that."

There was a silence as the both looked down at their glasses.

"Did you regret it?" he finally asked.

McGonagall looked across the table at him. He was as striking as he had been that night. The firelight only highlighted the sharp, handsome lines of his eternally-young face. "I'm sitting here getting sloshed with you, Billy," she replied. "If I regretted it, do you think I would be here?"

"That's why I asked, ducks," he said with a lop-sided grin. "You're female. I might be over a century old, but I still haven't worked out how the female mind works." 

"Pig," she said succinctly. 

"You got that right," he chuckled.

She leaned forward, placing the glass on the table and crossing her arms on the tabletop. "Billy," she said. "I have never and will never regret that night, if only for the fact I walked away from a liaison with one of the most notorious vampires in British history, without so much as a bite on me," His scarred left eyebrow rose. "Oh, all right, maybe a nip or two, but nowhere that anyone would notice..."

"And there's my feisty Minnie," he chuckled. "You look ready to smack me."

"And we all know where that lead last time," she sniffed.

The vampire grinned broadly. "Oh yeah..." he said dreamily.

Professor McGonagall raised her eyes to the ceiling. "You are terrible, Billy," she sighed, unsteadily levering herself to her feet. "But now, I think I have kept you up too long and will have to send you to bed..."

"Which is lady-speak for 'God, I think I'm going to puke! Let me abandon that stud of a vampire and get out of his line of sight before I embarrass myself'?" he suggested dryly, on his feet and round to her side when she swayed, catching her around the waist. "Whoa, easy luv."

"Don't flatter yourself, Billy," she gave him her sternest look. "And now, you're just taking the chance to grab a handful..."

"I take any excuse, ducks," he flashed her a grin, steering her towards the door. "Or maybe I should call you 'kitten' now."

A finger tipped with a sharp nail tapped his firmly in the middle of the chest. "You even think about doing that, Mr. Billy T. Bloody," He chuckled at the name. "And I will be forced to stake you...rather hard..."

"As opposed to staking me softly, right, kitten?" he said, negotiating her along the hallway, one of his arms still holding her around the waist.

She sniffed. "I am a witch," she reminded him.

"And I'm a vampire," he said. "Whatcha gonna do about it?"

"I'm going to ignore you in the hopes that you'll go away and never get me this tipsy again," she drew away from him at the top of the staircase, pointing vaguely in the direction of the hall. "Off with you."

"You sure you don't want me to make sure you get back to your room all right, kitten?"

"Positive," she glared at him. "And I would prefer if you refrained from calling me that."

"Whatever you say, kitten," He gave her one of his most charming, devilish grins and bounded down the staircase, leaving her glaring down at him. At the bottom, he paused to give her a wave before darting off into the shadows.

At the top of the stairs, Professor McGonagall was torn between the urges of hunting down the vampire and staking him, walking straight back to her room and putting a memory charm on her to forget him or being very very sick very very soon.

Unfortunately, the latter prevailed.

Unsteadily making her way back down the corridors to her room, she made a solemn vow to herself never to allow the cocky, arrogant vampire to convince her that half a bottle of cognac would be good for her.

***

"I trust you are feeling a little better, Miss Emerson."

"Albus..."

The Head master smiled. "Of course, Anya. I trust you are feeling better?"

Wizard and former demon had spent almost two hours talking over mugs of hot chocolate in one of the comfortable little living rooms that were scattered throughout the school, if one knew where to look.

"I feel great," she smiled broadly at him. "Its nice to find someone a little more mature to talk to once in a while. We have Spike, but he isn't very mature and Xander still thinks with his penis a lot..."

"Why, Anya," Dumbledore gave her a look. "Are you implying that I am old?"

"Albus, I saw you blowing bubbles in your hot chocolate," He went a little pink at that. "I just said more mature and it wouldn't be difficult to be more mature than Xander or Spike."

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "I must say it is delightful to find someone with more worldly knowledge than I, for once," he said, patting her slim hand. "And it is always a pleasure to talk with you."

"I like talking to you too," Rising on her toes, Anya kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, Albus," she said sincerely, before whispering the password and slipping through the portrait hole, into the room she shared with her boyfriend.

The Head Master was still standing there ten minutes later.

One hand finally rose and touched his cheek, which was positively glowing.

"Goodness..." was all he could think to say.

***

"Ugh..."

"Good morning, Minerva!"

"Do...not...shout..."

"I was not aware that I had shouted," Professor Dumbledore studied his Deputy Head Mistress. She was sitting rigidly in her seat her head resting against the back of her hard seat. Her eyes were closed and she looked a little paler than usual. "Are you all right, Minerva? You aren't looking too...healthy."

"Don't ask..." she replied hoarsely, slowly opening her eyes and looking down at the large plate of fried food that was in front of her. Baulking, she looked away, a green tinge washing over her features.

Sitting down, the Head Master raised a brow. "If I may ask...?"

"I think I might kill him."

"Pardon?"

Her blood-shot eyes opened and were pointed in the direction of a blond-haired male, who was sitting in the shade of the walls, gazing up at the ceiling with a blissful look on his face, as the false sun washed over his skin.

They also noticed Harris, the muggle, limping past, shooting dirty looks at the High table, where Granger and Summers were sitting side-by-side, grinning down at him in a way that would make the bravest soul cower.

"Would this, perchance, be something to do with a rather nice bottle of cognac that... vanished from my office?"

"I really would prefer if you didn't remind me, Albus."

Dumbledore chuckled. "You ought to have Severus produce one of his hangover cures. I hear they are remarkable for clearing the head."

"I think that clearing the stomach would be better at present," McGonagall replied delicately. She looked at Dumbledore. "And I do tend to avoid situations that will put my life in danger, so I would rather not seek out Severus this morning..."

"_Ah_..."

"Yes, '_Ah_'. He is more than a little...frustrated with you, Albus."

"Yes...yes, I rather suspected he would be. I expect he will remain so for the rest of term. As he has every year since he started teaching here," Sighing, Dumbledore withdrew his wand and conjured a small, round, clear bottle containing a pale yellow fluid. "However, since it would awkward for you to teach your classes with a hangover, this ought to save you the terror of facing an angry Severus."

McGonagall sighed, tipping the contents of the bottle into a goblet. "You are an angel, Albus," she said, before drinking the fluid and pulling a face. "Good God! It tastes like cat piss!"

"As a lesson to you about the sin of drinking too much, dear lady," the Head Master's eyes twinkled at her impishly.

The witch glared at him. "If I was feeling less nauseous, I do honestly believe I would smack you for that."

Dumbledore just raised his eyes to the ceiling and chuckled to himself.


	33. Potions Versus DADA

POTIONS VERSUS D.A.D.A

Notes: I wrote a tiny segment of this scene last year and it kind of...exploded to life in my head today (Oct. 25th) at midnight and I just had to write the rest of it. Oh, and just to warn you, when I do Angry-Snape, I really DO Angry-Snape.

________________________________

Despite the fact that it was still early in the afternoon, no one in their right mind was anywhere near the Potions dungeon. Not many people would be there anyway, but now, especially...

Those who feared Snape were probably cowering under their beds with a teddy-bear, the ripples of his emotions spreading even further than he realised.

Something smashed.

It went without saying what kind of mood he was in.

He was angry.

No.

He was beyond angry.

He was furious!

With a savage sweep of his hand, Snape sent a rack of test tubes hurtling across the room, the glass smashing on stone and tinkling on the floor, the combined liquids hissing and sizzling, green fumes curling off it.

His fists slammed down on the workbench, a roar of anger escaping him.

Once again, his chance for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position had been quashed and, this time, by some stupid little girl, who probably didn't even know how to fight off a Boggart.

It just wasn't fair!

After everything he had done for Dumbledore, for the school!

His hands clenched into tight fists on the splintered surface of his workbench, his fingernails biting into his palms, his knuckles whitened until the bone was virtually thrusting through his skin. 

Panting angrily, his crooked yellowed teeth grit together, lips peeling back from them, he searched around for something else to take out his frustration on, something he could break and leave for the house elves to clean

While most people went red with anger, the little colour in the face he had seeped from Snape's already-sallow skin, leaving him deathly white, his black eyes glittering malevolently from beneath his dark hair.

"Damn her!" he threw back his head and shouted it again, smashing his fists down on the workbench once more.

He hadn't even met the girl.

Seen her in passing in the Great Hall, before he had been informed of who she was and the fact she was taking his career of choice, yes, but he had never met the little blonde bitch.

"No time like the present," he growled, storming towards the door, bellowing an angry curse when his robes snagged on the broken leg of a chair that he had smashed just after Dumbledore had told him.

Jerking it free, landing a savage kick on the broken piece of furniture - which still didn't make him feel any better - he thundered out of his classroom, his robes catching on his legs with every step.

Pulling the hefty door of the classroom shut behind him with savage force, he heard the wood splinter, his lip curling. It probably had swung open behind him, but he didn't care about that now.

The halls ahead of him were clear of pupils. He could even hear fleeing footsteps in the distance and he sneered. He was feared by the pupils. He had their respect and downright terror.

As if any little blonde bimbo from America could compare to him as an expert in the Defence Against the Dark Arts.

***

Buffy Summers liked her classroom.

It wasn't anything like any classroom she had ever seen before, but it was nice and the Head Master had given her permission to decorate however she deemed fit. Giles had insisted on books.

Lots of books.

In fact, so many books that he been forced to fill six crates with them. Those very crates which stood between the rows of desks, looking enormous and depressingly full in the dusty light that shone through the tall, narrow windows in the wall to the right-hand side of the desk, when looking out at the class.

She was sure she had already emptied two of the crates, but there still seemed to be an awful lot of literature to be unpacked. 

Grabbing the third crate, which stood level with her hips, she easily heaved it over towards the wide desk that stood at the front of the classroom, bathed in the quiet afternoon sunlight. 

All of the desks and chairs seemed so big and old, all antique-y and cute and like they had been stolen from the films of Pride & Prejudice and all those old costume movies, with different shades of wood, where they had been in the direct sunlight for too long.

They even had neat little ink-wells, which she thought was seriously cute.

Not only was she teaching a group of magic kids, but they used quill pens, just like they used to in all the old movies, sitting at old-fashioned desks with old-fashioned robes and everything else.

Smiling, she jerked the top off the crate, groaning at the tightly packed block of enormous Defending Yourself Against The Dark Arts books, many of them the demon books liberated from the Sunnydale High School Library before it had... uh... blown up.

Using a ruler to pry the first ones out, she managed to negotiate a pile out onto the desk, dusting her hands down on her trousers, the musty and dusty smell of the books making her nose tickle.

Heaving the stack of books onto the bookshelf beside the blackboard, behind the massive desk that was to be hers, Buffy looked around when there was a rap on the door at the opposite end of the classroom, a second before a tall, angry-looking man in black entered.

"Oh! Hi! Uh..." Distracted from the leaning tower of books for a second, she yelped as one of the larger ones slid off the top of pile and bounced off her head and landed with a heavy 'thud' on the floor. "Ow!" 

Hastily pushing the rest on, bending to get the last, she rubbed her head.

"Sorry. Not really big on the book stacking. Usually leave that to Giles," she said by way of explanation, taking a chance to get a better look at her visitor.

He really was big on the glowering, she noted wryly, his greasy black hair hanging around a face that looked like it hadn't seen the sun for at least a decade. And his robes, all black and creepy-looking.

Walking around the desk briskly and up the classroom, she held out a small, dainty, feminine hand to him, smiling broadly. "Buffy Summers. Nice to meet you."

The man looked down at her, his upper lip curling, black eyes glittering with an emotion she really didn't want to identify. Suddenly, she had the odd image that she was holding her hand out to a cobra.

"Or not..." Withdrawing her hand, she pointed a finger up at him, forehead creasing in thought, then she grinned, a flash of recognition crossing her face. "You'd be Professor Snape, right?"

"Indeed."

"Not big on the wordiness, huh?" His eyes skimmed down her body, his upper lip curling a little more. "What?"

"That...ensemble. You are a teacher here, yet you dress like a common muggle."

Buffy looked down at her cream sweater, chocolate pants and matching boots, her brows wrinkling. "I like the way I dress," she said defiantly. "At least I don't go all out in embracing the stereotype."

"Tell me, little girl," He took a slow step towards her, his black cloak flaring around him in a way that reminded Buffy a tiny bit of Dracula. And a big 'Ew!' on that mental image. "Do you have any knowledge of magic."

Apparently, he expected her to back off or be frightened or something. 

"Nice glare you've got there, Snapey," She tapped him in the middle of his chest and was amused when he actually growled. She wasn't sure if it was the use of the nickname or the poking in the chest, but God! Over-reacting much? "You're almost scaring me." She hopped back a step to sit on the desk. "And yeah, on the magic. Got a friendly neighbourhood witch."

"But you know no spells yourself?"

Sitting on the desk, swinging her legs back and forth, Buffy grinned at him, aware that she was probably definitely bugging the crap out of this guy who was going for Angel's dominating flarey-coat-King-of-Pain thing and would have been succeeding if she hadn't known he was just a human. "Nope."

Snape's thin lips narrowed even more, his dark eyes glittering malevolently. "And you have no Wizarding blood in you?"

"Nuh-uh," She tilted her head to one side, eyes dancing. Apparently, this guy had no clue who she was and he definitely didn't like her for some reason. She was sensing a whole lot of fun about to come her way.

"And you have been assigned the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts at this school?" She nodded brightly. He stepped directly in front of her, plunging her into shadow, his face obscured. He definitely knew his intimidation tactics, but he had obviously never met a Slayer before. She just looked up at him, as if they were in perfect light, smiling. "If you don't mind me asking, Miss Summers," his voice was coated in ice. "What makes you think you are capable of the job?"

"You really wanna know why, Snapey?" She grinned at him and saw a flicker of annoyance and consternation in his eyes when she reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. "This is why..."

In a heartbeat, the Potions Master found himself pinned on his back on the desk, a razor sharp knife in the blonde's hand pressed against his throat, her other hand spread on his chest, holding him down.

Grabbing at her wrists, he tried to push her hands - and the knife - away from his bare neck, but was unable to make her budge even a millimetre, panic and confusion filtering into the rage on his face.

"See, Snapey!" she cooed sweetly. "I got the job because Dumbledore didn't want me to decapitate him with his own wand," She grinned down at the wizard. "I could probably do it too, you know...might take a while, wands being all blunt and woody, but hey! I could always try," She paused, then smiled genuinely. "Actually, he asked me and my pet vampire to come and work here cos we're too cute to not be seen by your pupils." 

"Release...me..."

Buffy pressed the edge of the blade against his throat a little harder. "You didn't say the magic word."

"NOW!"

Laughing, the Slayer stepped back, folding her arms over her chest as Snape sat up, pushing himself off the desk, onto his feet, rubbing his throat. "You know, Snapey, you're never gonna make any friends with that attitude."

Snape's hand reached into the pocket of his robes for his wand, but the Slayer got there first, grabbing his right arm and twisting the wrist until his hand was almost backwards, the wizard hissing through his teeth in pain. 

"Nuh-uh," wagging a finger at him, she tutted. "That's cheating. Now," She said with a bright smile. "Do I kick your ass and show you why I'll be a good Dada teacher? Or do I let you go?"

"Dumbledore will hear of this," the hook-nosed teacher gasped as the blade came up under his chin again.

"I would hope so, Professor," She grinned up at him. "You want the job of the Dada and yet, a small girl can still throw you onto a desk and could have cut your throat before you could even defend yourself." She tutted as he straightened his robes. "Not very good at all, Snapey."

Scowling, the black-haired teacher stalked towards the open door, his black robes flaring around him.

"Oh, and Snapey," she called after him with a demure look. He glared at her, a muscle in his cheek twitching furiously. "Wash your hair, would you? I'd hate to have to force your head under a shower."

The Potions Professor growled something that sounded very rude, before storming out of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, leaving Buffy leaning against the desk, chuckling in his wake.

***

"I demand her departure at once!"

Professor Dumbledore had his back to Snape, as the Potions Master raved, as he had been doing for the last ten minutes. He was bent over one of the gleaming gadgets in his office, watching miniature replicas of the planets revolve around the sun.

Sunlight flooded in through all the high windows, making Uranus - yes, two hundred-years-old and he still snickered at that joke - shine, which was no doubt a bad omen for anyone who happened to be a dancing leprechaun wearing a sundial on his nose.

He made a mental note never to invite Sybill Trelawny to his office, unless this new toy was covered up, or he knew he would have at least a dozen deaths hanging over him before she left.

Straightening up, he glanced briefly at a picture of the graduate class of two years earlier that hung just above his planetarium, smiling at the faces of Potter, Granger and Weasley in particular. 

However, seeing them redirected his attention back to the teacher who was currently chaffing at the bit behind him.

Wandering back around his desk, the Head Master sat down in the large seat, his deep green-blue and purple robes shifting around him, smiling as Snape continued to pace furiously, growling about something that had occurred with their new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor.

"Severus, do you really think that necessary?" He had wondered how the Potions Master would react to the fearless little blonde who had been called in to replace Remus Lupin.

"The little hussy damn near killed me!"

Steepling his fingertips in front of his chest, Dumbledore's lips lifted in a smile beneath his beard. "Indeed?" was all he said.

"And she's a muggle, Head Master!" Swinging around, Snape pointed an angry finger at Dumbledore. "How on earth is a muggle meant to efficiently teach Defence Against the Dark Arts? If a Dark Lord rises, what are the children meant to do?"

Raising a hand for silence, Dumbledore motioned for the Potions Master to sit in the chair opposite him. "Severus, are you questioning my judgement in this situation out of a true concern for the pupils or out of envy?"

Snape opened his mouth to retort and quickly shut it again. Spots of colour appeared on his cheeks and he glared at Dumbledore in a way that suggested he would very much like to hit him.

"As you are remaining oddly silent, Severus, I believe I should inform you of a little secret that Miss Summers holds," Black eyes gleamed bitterly at him, daring him to give an answer that would sate Snape's anger. "I trust this will remain confidential between us, the staff and Miss Summers."

Snape made a grunting sound, which the Head Master translated as assent.

"Miss Summers is the Slayer."

Black eyes seemed to double in size, staring across at Dumbledore, who was merrily chuckling to himself. Snape's mouth opened and shut several times, the anger in his expression replaced with astonishment.

"You did wonder why she wasn't intimidated by you, did you not?" Snape glared at him, making Dumbledore chuckle again. "Ah, Severus, your face is an open book to me. You wanted her to fear you and run away home," He smiled, his eyes twinkling with glee. "Alas, Miss Summers has faced many things more frightening than you, if you can believe there is such a thing. I believe she has even journeyed to Hell, so your little act would hardly dissuade her."

"When you say the Slayer...?"

"I mean the Chosen One, Severus," Dumbledore replied. "She, alone, who stands against Vampires and Demons and the forces of Darkness. The Slayer," He paused for a hearty chuckle. "Although, in Miss Summers' case, it ought to read she who - with her madcap band of friends and relatives - shall stand against vampires and demons... and befriend a few of them as well."

"Pardon?"

"That charming young lady, who accompanied Miss Summers," Dumbeldore's blue eyes shone with an emotion that no one had seen in them for many a year. "Miss Emerson. She was previously a Vengeance Demon and I find her a rather enchanting, if blunt, young lady," Snape looked like he was torn between laughing hysterically or running, screaming. "And Spike is none other than William the Bloody."

At that, Snape exploded again. "You let him into the school after what he did the before?" he cried out angrily, the colour disappearing from his cheeks again. "He sided with Voldemort!"

Dumbledore smiled slightly. "Ah, yes. I did ask about that. If I recall correctly, he claims he did it because he 'got bored'. He also remarked that he told Voldemort that he had bad breath and should probably refrain from eating so many mice." A chuckle escaped the wizard. "Apparently, the Dark Lord was not entirely amused."

Snape was looking disorientated by this revelation, which had been Dumbledore's gleeful intention all along. "One...one wouldn't think so."

"Apparently William's lover at the time had to get him drunk and spirit him away, in order to prevent Voldemort from killing him out of frustration." Dumbledore couldn't help chuckling. "No one quite irritated the Dark Lord like that particular vampire."

Now, the Potions Master almost appeared amused. Almost, but not quite. "And why," he asked, his voice steady and calm again. "Is William The Bloody fraternising with the Vampire Slayer by choice?"

"He has been neutralised," Dumbledore explained, wondering if the story sounded as much like a theme of a Science-Fiction film as he thought it did. "A Government agency implanted a behavioural modification chip into his brain. He is no longer able to harm humans."

Snape's expression was sceptical. "And is there evidence to support this theory?"

"Well, on one of my visits to Sunnydale, he was living in a bathtub in the house of a Mr. Rupert Giles," Dumbledore studied Snape's face carefully as he spoke. 

He knew that Severus had practically idolised the Senior Gryffindor, in his early years at the school, when he had been briefly under the protection of the older man, before Giles had been withdrawn from Hogwarts for Watcher Training. 

After all, Giles had been infamous for his ability in the Potions department, in spite of his prankster nature. He had also taken care of anyone else who proved to have a gift with the potions, until his father...

Snape's fists contracted around the arms of the chair he was sitting in, a muscle in his cheek twitching, and the Head Master didn't even need to ask what had aroused his anger again. 

He had suspected that Snape's affection for Giles' overbearing and obnoxious father was so thin it was near transparent, after the one senior who had appreciate second-year Snape's work was forced from his circle.

If he hadn't known better, Dumbledore would have sworn that Severus saw Giles as almost a substitute for an elder brother.

"Is that sufficient evidence, Severus?" 

Snape nodded, blinking. "Yes..." he said faintly. "Yes, I think so."

"Very well, Severus," Dumbledore rose to his feet. "You are satisfied with my choice of teacher and her credentials?"

"Not entirely. What of the magical aspects of her classes? How is she supposed to teach them?"

"I wondered how long you would take to ask." Dumbledore walked to stand by the window, looking out over the clear grounds, a small smile on his lips. The soft sunlight washed in on his face. "She has a few assistants with her, all here voluntarily, including a Mr. Giles."

"Giles is back?" 

The expression of delight that crossed Snape's face was quickly smothered by his usual, surly look, but Dumbledore chuckled to himself as he watched the reflection of Snape in the window, knowing that the multiple invitation was definitely among his better ideas.

"Indeed," the old wizard answered. "He almost insisted on coming," He paused for a moment, tracing his fingertip along the windowsill. "Perhaps you agree with my decision now?"

Snape's lip twisted slightly, as if he wanted to make some snide remark, but he settled for answering in a slightly stiff voice. "We will have to wait and see how well she performs, Head Master."

"Very well, Severus, but please," He turned. "Don't irritate her anymore than you have to. She is a little stronger than you would expect." The closed look on Snape's face told him more than words would and he turned back to the window, chuckling, as Snape stalked out.

If he knew Snape and the Summers girl, there would be fireworks before the week was out.

And personally, he was looking forward to it with great relish.

A small smile reached his lips, as he wondered if the charming Miss Emerson would like to share a bag of popcorn with him, when the inevitable explosion between the two strong personalities happened.


	34. Muggles & Puzzles

MUGGLES & PUZZLES

Notes: Just as an advanced warning to any of you who have been reading this, from now on, the chapters are going to come out more sporadically and we're also going to have some seriously long ones (chapters, that is, not characters!) popping up too, since I have such a wide range of characters to work with.

Also, this one stops where it stops because it hit 13 pages and could have easily gone to 25. I want to keep them under fifteen, so it stops where it stops, where it…you get the idea ;D

Even though I haven't started writing this chapter, I'm sniggering. Be warned that this will be as insane as the previous chapters! If not worse. *snickers evilly* I love Snapey. Please keep this in mind.

__________________________

"Rise and shine, dear! It's a beautiful morning!"

Buffy stirred groggily, squinting around at her surroundings. Why was it still pitch dark? If she was meant to be up, why wasn't the sunlight pouring in through the light drapes she had and why...

"Buffy!"

"Ack!" One of the Slayer's hands instantly jerked up to shield her eyes, the brilliant, autumn sunlight pouring through the gap in the curtains around her bed where Dawn stood, grinning broadly. "Oh God...Dawnie!" Squinting at her sister, she glared. "This is why I didn't want to share a room with you."

Dawn didn't seem at all put off. "Bob thought we should wake you," she said, sounding far too wide-awake. "You've got a class in an hour and Dumbledore thinks you might want breakfast first. Dobby brought it up for you."

Rubbing her eyes with a fist, still scowling, Buffy sat up and eased towards the edge of the bed, tripping over a small figure wearing a wool sweater and what looked like a knitted hat, and banging her knee on the seat beside her desk.

"Ow," she moaned, sitting down heavily. She was used to house elves being around the room, bringing up food for her and her sister whenever they asked or, in her case, whenever she slept in. 

However, she had never had one standing where her feet were meant to be.

"Oh, Professor Summers! Dobby is sorry!"

Rubbing her knee, Buffy looked down at the small creature she had tripped over. He was kinda cute in a weird, surreal way: large green eyes stared roundly at her, from a face that had a worried, hesitant smile on it. Bat-like ears jutted out from the head that seemed too large for the creature's skinny body.

"Is Professor Summers all right? Dobby will shut his ears in the door, if she is not!"

"No! No shutting-ears-in-doors!" the Slayer exclaimed quickly. "I'm fine. Just a little bumped, but no biggie," She extended her leg and pulled up the leg of her pyjamas, revealing an unmarred knee. "See."

"Ah, Dobby would be most aggrieved if he caused Professor Summers harm," the house elf said sincerely. "I am hearing all about you and I is not having a chance to see you before. Professor Summers is known to all..." He was staring at her with an expression of wonder. "The Slayer..."

Buffy looked up at Dawn, who looked equally shocked. "How...how did you know that, Dobby?" she asked. "No one except Professor Dumbledore and a few of the staff were meant to know about it."

"Oh my!" Dobby looked horrified. "Dobby is not knowing that it is a confidence he is speaking!" He hurried towards the window seat and drew his head back to hit it on the window-ledge. "Bad Dobby!"

"No, Dobby! Don't!" Buffy hauled him back from the ledge quickly by the back of his sweater. "Just tell me how you know."

Dobby blinked up at her. "We is knowing of you, Slayer," he replied carefully, twisting his hands into the front of his jumper. "You is known to our world. We is sensing your power...your strength. Strength that is belonging only to a Slayer."

"You sensed me?" Dobby nodded a cautious affirmative. "That's okay, then, but please, don't let anyone else know that you know, okay? I do have to kinda keep a bit of a secret identity." 

"Oh, Dobby is understanding, Professor Summers! It is a great honour to be meeting you!" He bowed so low that his nose almost touched the floor. "Dobby is hoping... that is, he wonders may he see you again?"

Buffy smiled. "Sure! I'd like that," she replied. "You can tell me more about how you sensed me, because that sounds way wiggy. Maybe you could come up one morning when I don't have a class?"

"Dobby would be thrilled, Professor Summers," he said, staring at her out of those large, round eyes. "But Dobby must be going now! Dobby has many chores to do."

Leaving several plates on the desk: one stacked with toast, another with a full English breakfast and a third with various pastries: the house elf vanished with the tray, as the Slayer got to her feet and stretched, studying the selection of food.

"Do they expect me to eat all of this?" she demanded, staring at everything.

"You could do with it, dear," a voice spoke from the wall above the desk and Buffy rolled her eyes in Bob's direction. "Don't you give me that look, young lady! You really are awfully skinny! Both of you are! I would suggest that you eat everything they give you!"

"You want me to get to the size of a house before Christmas?" Standing up, the Slayer looked into the mirror.

"Now, now, dear, don't exaggerate. I just think you would look so much prettier with some more curves..."

Reaching up, Buffy patted the frame. "I'll eat," she replied. "But I'm not going to eat everything. I wouldn't be able to."

"I could!" Dawn said. She grabbed a warm, buttered croissant, flinging herself down on her belly on Buffy's bed and sinking her teeth into the pastry, as she studied her elder sister. "You have to get ready cause you have a class in a while and I bet you haven't got anything planned for it."

Buffy pulled a face, as she took a piece of jam-spread toast. "Today is just going to be my introduction day so I can find out what everyone has done so far and see what they all know."

"And I get to go to Potions," her sister grinned. 

"You _like_ potions?"

Dawn nodded, speaking with her mouth full of croissant. "Professor Snape is the coolest!" she exclaimed. "Everyone else is scared of him and he's always threatening to do really mean things to me."

"And this doesn't worry you?" Toast held in one hand, Buffy raked through her chest of drawers for a sweater. If there was one thing she wasn't enjoying, it was the cold weather of Britain. Turning, she made an accusing gesture with her hand. "What if Snapey does do something mean?"

"Snapey?" Dawn choked. "You call him Snapey?"

"He did his lurky, scowly thing," Buffy shrugged. "I figured it would bug him."

"And he doesn't like you for standing up to him?"

The Slayer swallowed her toast. "Um...I don't think he likes me because I pinned him on the desk with a knife at his throat," Dawn's eyes bugged. "Anyway!" she added a little more emphatically. "He was being a big jerk and trying to scare me!"

"But you didn't have to use a knife!"

Buffy pulled a face. "You said he was threatening you. Wouldn't you do it?"

"No! I tell him what I think and he tells me he'll use my tongue in a potion and I tell him that he's a big jerk! I don't use a knife!" The younger of the two rolled onto her feet, shaking her head. "Didn't you even try reading any of the books, so you knew what he was like?"

"Huh?"

"Hello? The Harry Potter books? Kinda tell you about all the teachers who work here?" Dawn's hands were on her hips and she raised her eyebrows. "Professor Snape is mean to everyone except the Slytherins! You just took his favourite job and you thought that was him being mean? If he was being mean, he would have made you drink a poison, then make the antidote yourself. God! And you say I overreact!"

Buffy tried to find some kind of justifiable reply, but her sister had already flounced towards the portrait-covered doorway and disappeared out into the Hall, the painting closing behind her.

"All right," she muttered, laying her toast down on the heaped plate and looking for her underwear. "Remember sister's only advice...don't use a knife on fellow-member-of-faculty-staff."

"It would be wise, dear," Bob agreed mildly.

Buffy whimpered.

She really, really didn't feel ready to be a teacher.

***

"But I don't get it."

Willow, Xander and Anya were seated at a table just short of the High table, yet not quite connected to the Gryffindor table, discussing the fact that Xander had been able to access Hogwarts at all.

"What's to get?"

"You're a muggle, Xander," Anya answered, although in a less than warm way. She was apparently still a little bitter about him leaving her alone on their first night, to spend time with Willow. "Muggles aren't meant to be able to see Hogwarts."

"Maybe it's the witchy vibe you two gave me," he suggested, looking from his lover to his long-time friend. "I mean Buffy's all muggly as well and she can see the school okay. And Dawn and Spike."

Willow was studying her bread, which was thickly smeared with peanut butter. "I think Buffy, Dawnie and Spike can all get in because they're not real humans," she said thoughtfully. "I mean, Buffy...she's Buffy. Dawnie is special too and Spike... well, we all know what Spike is."

"Stunningly attractive and irresistible?" a fourth voice joined in, as the vampire slid into the seat next to Willow. All three gave him a look and he grinned. "Morning to you too, Red, Prat and Demon-gal."

"For once, can't you call us by our names?" Xander groused.

"And kill you with the shock?" Spike raised his eyebrows, blue eyes glinting. "Sorry, mate, that would be no fun," He looked around the table, then grinned as a bowl of weetabix with blood liberally poured over it appeared in front of him. "Great service they have here!"

"Spike!" Willow looked horrified. "Do you have to eat that in front of us?"

The vampire looked up at her, a dripping spoonful of bloody weetabix halfway to his mouth. A wicked glint appeared in his eye and with exaggerated slowness, he ate the contents of the spoon a bit at a time. 

"Mmm...s'good..." he groaned, smacking his lips. Offering his refilled spoon around, he raised an eyebrow. "Wanna try some?"

"Spike!" three voices chorused it and the vampire snickered.

"Wusses," he replied. "Whatcha on about anyway?"

Anya looked across the table at him. "We were wondering why a muggle like Xander can get into Hogwarts," she said, her voice cold, the frost clearly directed at her boyfriend. Spike noticed it and looked like he was having trouble grinning.

"Its obvious, innit?"

"It is?"

Spike nodded sagely. "He was invited by Dumble," he explained. "The minute you get an invite from the big chief of this place, you've been officially told about it, so all the charms to hide it stop working on you."

"For an uneducated creature of the night, you're real smart sometimes," Willow said, shaking her head. Spike smirked at the commendation, mushing some more of the weetabix under his blood. "I don't know why I didn't think of that sooner."

"Because you were so busy thinking about your boyfriend leaving you again?" Anya suggested, receiving a sharp elbow in the ribs from Xander. "Ow! What did you do that for?"

Willow rolled her eyes. "Xander, it's okay. She can say that. I'm not going to start crying again."

"You sure about that, Red?" Spike inquired. He was studying her with a half-smile on his face. "After all, I'm pretty sure there's a certain little witch hereabouts who would be more than happy to comfort you, cheeky little bint that she is."

"Huh?"

Spike nodded towards the High table. "That roomie of yours," he replied, stirring his rather soggy breakfast. "She's a bit of all right, that one. Quite the mouth on her, but the body to match it..."

"Yeah," Willow had to grin as the brown-haired witch pulled a face at them when she saw what Spike was eating, then froze. "Uh...Spike? How do you know what Hermione's body is like?"

The vampire grinned. "I kind of accidentally walked in on her in the staff loos."

"Accidentally?" Willow raised her eyebrows. "Spike, you're a vampire. You don't pee. What were you doing in the toilets?"

He shrugged, with an awkward look. "I was on the lookout for Minnie... Miner... er... Professor McGonagall," he replied. "She wasn't in the khazi, but Hermione was and she had her robes hiked up to her waist so she could fix up a ladder in her tights."

"So you've only seen her legs," Willow laughed. "That's nothing."

"You've seen Hermione naked?" Xander gulped. "You mean when she said you and her and the ice cream...?"

"Xander!"

"What's this about you and Hermi with ice cream?"

Willow shot a dark look at Spike. "Nothing! Hermione said it to tease me! And no, Xander, I haven't seen Hermione naked, but I have seen her in her underwear, when she stripped on the first night we were living together to embarrass me."

"I think I could get to liking this Hermi chit," Spike grinned. "Sounds like a right gutter mind on her. She has a bloody good set of pins on her as well. Kind of made up for the missing McGonagall."

"Spike," Anya interrupted curiously, staring at the vampire. "Why were you looking for Professor McGonagall anyway?"

"Uh...we..." Hastily shoveling a spoonful of weetabix into his mouth, he seemed to chew on it for a long time before swallowing and replying. "We were planning a poker tournament, but she wanted to back out and was avoiding me."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah," he said, realising a moment too late that the voice came from behind him and that the Scottish burr in the accent suggested that it was none other than Professor McGonagall there. "Um..." Turning, he slowly looked up at her, blinking at her in a display of mock-innocence. "Kitten! Fancy seeing you here!"

"So, we were having a poker tournament, were we?"

The three at the table were chuckling at the vampire's obvious discomfort at being caught out. He scowled at them, then grinned boyishly up at her. "Well, if you feel you can face the might of Spike and the Sunnydale crew..."

"The Sunnydale guests are the competition?"

Spike glanced back at the trio at the table, then up at her, swivelling in his seat and rising smoothly to his feet to face her. They stood at almost exactly the same height, blue eyes meeting green levelly.

The left side of his mouth lifted in a lazy smirk, his brows rising. "You think you can take us, Minnie?" he murmured, his voice so low the constant hum of conversation in the hall almost drowned it out.

"I know _we_ can take you, _Billy_," she replied equally quietly, her arms crossed over her chest. Her expression was deadly serious to anyone who chanced to look at them, but only he could see the gleam in her eye that said she was amused. "What do you say? Three of your people against three of mine? Sunnydale guests versus the Staff. Split them into two groups. The winners play each other. _Strip_ poker." Spike's eyes widened, but he was incredibly proud that he managed to maintain his composure. McGonagall raised a brow in challenge. Damn, he hated it when she did that. It gave him no choice but to accept. "Well, _Billy_?"

To anyone who looked at them as they glared coolly at one another, it looked like she found him repulsive and irritating, while he clearly found her boring and the only reason he was bothering to talk to her was because he could aggravate her, but that certainly was not the case.

Bringing his hands to his hips, pushing his duster back from his lean body, several teenage girls sighing, he cocked his head at her. "I'll have to see what my people say, but if I have my way, you're on."

"And if you don't?" She gave him that strict look, which was undercut by the twinkle in her green eyes. "Don't tell me that you're going to disappoint me again, Mr T. Bloody."

"And when, kitten," he purred in his silkiest tones. "Did I disappoint you before?"

A faint blush appeared in her cheeks and she cleared her throat. "Check with your people, Billy, and when you know the details," her voice returned to her more normal volume. "Come to my office immediately."

"Bossy bint," he growled at her, receiving a glare, as she stalked off and he threw himself back into his seat, receiving expectant looks from his three companions. "Oh, right, yeah...she wants to know if we're up for a poker game against the staff."

Willow shook her head. "I can't play poker. Never learned."

"I can! I wanna play!" Anya said eagerly. "Xander can't. It was very boring at poker evenings with him."

Xander shot a dark look at his lover, then at Spike. "Count me out," he replied.

"Right, there's me, demon girl...that's two," Running a hand over his head, he raised his eyes to the charmed ceiling. "I s'pose I can always haul old Rupert or the...er... Professor in on it as well."

He shot a look up at the table, where McGonagall had sat down and was muttering to the Head Master. Dumbledore's blue eyes flicked to the vampire and he actually gave Spike a knowing smirk.

So it was going to be dirty tactics, eh?

"Demon-girl, mind coming with me, while Red and the prat bond again?" he inquired, pushing his bowl aside. "We have to discuss how we're going to do this, so we can outdo a bunch of people who are magic."

Anya looked up at the table, where Dumbledore sat and gave him a little wave, as she got to her feet to depart with the vampire. He immediately smiled very broadly. "I know how I can stop Albus from winning," she replied, a wicked glint in her eyes.

"I bet," Spike snickered as they started towards the end of the Great Hall. "And I'll be pulling the same stunt on Minnie."

There was a moment's silence.

"Why do you call her Minnie?"

Looking down at the young woman beside her, he half-smiled. "Same reason you call him Albus, demon-girl."

Anya nodded knowingly. "Ah."

***

In the silence of the dungeon, the crackling of the fires and bubbling of potions the only sounds, the squeak of the classroom door swinging open sounded deafening to the pupils in the class.

The grinning maw of light from the open door cut across the black stone of the floor, a figure silhouetted in the frame, leaning against one side of it. Whoever was there was a tall, broad figure, no one they could recognise by the shadow.

None of them dared to look around, though, lest more points get taken.

For reasons unknown, the Potions Master was in a worse mood than usual and his temperament seemed to have knocked the temperature in the already freezing room down several notches, meaning that more potions than usual were being botched by numb-fingered pupils.

A couple of the braver ones dared to shoot a look at Snape, who had risen from his desk, one hand still spread on the surface. His dark eyes were glittering oddly and his knuckles were white around the edge of the desk.

"Out," he said in a strangely strained voice.

Looks were exchanged by the pupils.

Black eyes swung back to them, flickering. "I said," he repeated softly, his normally calm voice actually trembling. "Out. Now."

They weren't about to protest.

Anything to get out of Potions early.

The whole fourth year class practically ran out of the dungeon classroom, some of them still packing their bags as they left, unwilling to linger in the grim room any longer than was absolutely necessary.

Snape, though, remained rigid by the desk, staring at the man in the doorway, as he watched the pupils go.

"Always knew you'd do well," Rupert Giles said, as he turned and walked into the dungeon, shivering as the chill hit him. He crossed the floor and came to a halt in front of Snape, a small smile on his lips. "I've heard you're the best Potions Master Hogwarts has ever had."

"Rupert..."

"Who else would it be, Sev?" he asked, extending a hand, which Snape immediately grasped with his own. The contact lasted barely a heartbeat before Giles pulled the younger wizard forward in a hearty embrace. 

Had it been anyone else who had dared to touch him with such genuine brotherly affection, anyone but Rupert Giles, Snape knew they would have found themselves hexed beyond recognition. 

Although he was now a little taller than the older man, he recognised the familiar strength in his one-time mentor and friend's arms and clung to him, knowing that if he let go, he would stumble again.

For his part, the watcher seemed aware of it and let the younger man clutch at him as if his life depended on it.

Snape pressed his burning eyes closed, as Giles clapped him on the back, reminded once again why he had been so close to the older wizard. "Rupert," he said, his voice a shaking breath. "I-I never imagined...how...how have you been?"

"Tolerable, Sev," He was held at arm's length, Giles' brilliantly green eyes scanning over his robe-decked form . "And how about you? I see you've really taken to the role of the evil arch-fiend."

Smiling genuinely for the first time in years, Severus Snape looked down at his black robes. "They are more imposing than those hideous ensembles that Dumbledore insists on wearing," he replied, touching the starched cuff of his right wrist with his left hand. "They allow me some measure of intimidation and authority."

"But that doesn't tell me how you've been, Sev."

"Ah..."

"That bad?"

Severus looked uncomfortably down at his feet. "You...could say that," he replied awkwardly, like a recalcitrant child facing his father. 

"Do you have time to sit and talk or...?"

"Of course!" Gesturing for the older man to follow him, Snape lead the way through to his office, which was connected to the classroom by a hidden doorway. It was small, orderly and dark. 

With a desk against the left wall, piled high with scrolls and books, and shelf upon shelf of books and potions on the right wall, the wall directly in front of them was occupied by a fireplace, which had roared to life with - Giles' raised an eyebrow in Snape's direction - green flames the moment they stepped into the room.

One seat stood before the fire, large and imposing. It looked like it had been pulled directly out of a Gothic castle, spiked decorations covering every inch of it, except the seat and seat back.

Pulling a lower chair over from the desk, Severus motioned for his old friend to sit down in the larger of the two. "It's not much," he said apologetically, settling himself on the lower seat.

"Sev, this is exactly what I would expect of you," Giles replied, smiling slightly as he took a seat. He glanced into the flames that were licking their way up the black walls of the grate, then back at his companion. "Dumbledore told me that you've been working here for nearly twenty years now."

"He...he mentioned me?"

Giles nodded slowly. "After he asked Buffy and I to come here and teach, he took me aside and told me that you had proven to be more than adept with Potions and that he had taken you onto the staff when you finished your schooling."

"I had hoped I would finally be given that damned Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts position," The Potions Master admitted, a tone of bitterness in his voice. "I have repeatedly offered myself for the post."

"Why on earth would you want to be the D.A.D.A.?" Rupert demanded. "You were always far better at potions than that subject."

Snape's lips thinned, his eyes going to the flames in the fireplace. His hands had clenched together in his lap, something that didn't go unnoticed by Giles. "I gained some... experience in the field, after you departed, Rupert."

"Surely you didn't share my rotten luck and get drafted by the bloody watchers council," Giles started to laugh, but it trailed off at the expression on the younger man's bowed, ashen face. "Sev?" he leaned forward. "Sev, what happened?"

"I..." His eyes hesitantly came up to Giles'. "I was a Death Eater, Rupert."

Giles visibly recoiled, shock on his features. "You...you were what?"

Black eyes went to the floor again, full of shame. "I joined them in sixth year," he replied quietly. "Of my own free will," There was a brief silence. "They were the only ones who would have me after you left."

"Bloody hell...Sev..."

"I didn't intend to stay long..." he said, his voice shaking with emotion. "But when they have you, you aren't permitted to leave. Not by your own volition. Not unless you leave in pieces..."

"You should have contacted me, Sev. You should have let me know..."

"How, Rupert?" Turning away from the man who was like an elder brother to him, Severus stared deep into the belly of the flames, blinking back tears of recrimination and self-loathing. "You were gone. Out of the wizarding world. With muggles. I...you had a new life to deal with. One where I would not have belonged."

A hand touched his shoulder. "Sev," Giles' voice was calm and steady. "You and I, we were friends. Friends help one another, even if they belong to two very different worlds. I would have been here like a shot, you know that."

"You would willingly help a known dark wizard and agent of Voldemort?" There was a cynical chuckle from the dark-haired man. "Surely even you weren't that wonderful, Rupert."

"No, Sev," the reply came after a hesitation. "But I was as bad as that." Snape turned to face the older man, confused. "You remember Rayne?" The Potions Master nodded in assent. "He and I were expelled from the wizarding world for using the dark arts to summon demons," Black eyes widened in shock. "We only avoided Azkaban because we were considered young and foolhardy."

"You...?"

"Me, Sev."

"But you..." Dark eyes mirrored the bewilderment that was rapidly building on Snape's pale face. "You couldn't have...you were always so clever...popular... you... you hated Malfoy and the Dark Arts..."

"My dearly beloved father also hated magic and the dark arts. I used it to give him the finger in a way he couldn't ignore," Giles replied as an explanation, one hand rising to squeeze Snape's shoulder. "Needless to say, he was mildly put out with me for being such an idiot."

"And we both appear to have redeemed ourselves to some extent."

"What do you mean?"

Snape's lips rose in a bitter smile. "I was a spy for the Ministry of Magic for more than seventy-five percent of my time as a Death Eater and here you are, a Watcher and guardian of the Vampire Slayer who has lived the longest and is even seen to be qualified to teach in a wizard school, despite her distinct lack of wizarding blood."

"Do I detect a note of resentment to my Slayer?"

"Resentment? I have no idea what you mean..."

Giles almost smiled. "Let me see," he remarked. "She took the job you wanted, she embarrassed you and she didn't even break a nail while doing so. If you are anything like me, she will try your patience in so many ways, you will find yourself longing to wring her neck. I know I felt that way for many months, before I finally saw her for what she truly is."

"And what is that?"

Giles smiled. "I shall leave you to find that out for yourself, Sev," he replied, his eyes twinkling. "After all, I'm looking forward to seeing you try to kill each other without Dumbledore noticing."

"You think she disapproves of me as much as I disapprove of her?"

"Sev, a knife against your throat the first time she meets you is a sign that she isn't exactly a member of the Snape fanclub."

A rueful half-smile crossed the Potions Professor's lips. "I suppose that is true," he remarked. 

"I did mention you to her briefly," Giles added, his eyes twinkling a little. "But I... er... apparently forgot to mention that threats and derisiveness are your usual modes of welcoming a new arrival."

"Oh, I didn't threaten her. Not much, at least..." the Potions Master said. A tired look crossed his face. "I...I simply wish it was someone else who had been given the post, since it could not be me. Someone who is at least qualified."

"I'm sure old Dumble considered you."

"No, Rupert, he has never and would never consider me," A weary hand ran through Snape's dark hair. "He knows why I want that position and that is the very reason that I will never be assigned it."

"Absolution."

"Am I so transparent?"

Giles' lips rose in a mirthless smile. "It's the same reason that I became a Watcher. I saw the damage the demons could do and what I had done. I chose to try and earn exoneration through battling the very things I had raised and through that, found myself with Buffy and her friends, exiled from the Council I once believed in and now, I'm back at the school I was ripped out of with an old friend I never imagined I would see again."

"And taking half of my choice of profession."

There was a quiet chuckle. "Well, I suppose I did..." Giles said. "But think about it, Sev. It wasn't exactly your strongest subject, was it? And would you honestly be able to tolerate that classroom? I mean, its full of...sunlight!"

"I'm a wizard, Rupert, not a bloody vampire!"

Giles' eyes flicked to the heavy black robes and then Snape's face. "You do a damn good impression of one, Sev," he chuckled at the mock scowl on the younger man's face. "You actually do resemble a more healthy version of Dracula if I may say so."

"Dracula?"

"Surely you've heard of him?"

Snape shrugged. "Bram Stoker had a remarkable imagination."

"Not so much imagination, Sev," A grin spread across the watcher's face. "It was an expert move in promotion by the vampire. He's one of the few that anyone actually remembers now."

"Surely you're not saying..."

"He's real," Giles said. "Buffy fought him and won, as far as we can tell, although I was unfortunately...ah...distracted..."

"Your Slayer fought Dracula? _The_ Dracula?"

"Without any wizarding blood," There was an obvious attempt to hide a grin. "She has been fighting demons since she was fifteen years of age, so she does have a good deal of experience, which is why - I believe - Dumbledore wanted her here. On top of that, he wanted someone strong enough to physically protect Dawn."

"I-I am still not certain of her teaching credentials..."

"Sev, try to remember back to the good old days when we were at this school," Giles said. "Do you remember how many people in our classes could actually understand what the Professors were talking about?"

"I understood everything."

"Yes, Sev, but we're not counting random child prodigies like you," the older man said teasingly. "We're talking about mere mortals, who felt incredibly stupid for not being able to differentiate between a grindylow and a frolax demon. In Buffy's case, she might not be magically inclined, which is why I'm here, but she knows how to describe the dark creatures. She can make it interesting, entertaining and educational for the children."

"And a hormonal battle ground for the teenage boys."

"In that case, it will probably mean that less pupils will skip her classes."

Snape couldn't help chuckling, shaking his head. "Well, well, Dumbledore really is much more cunning than I gave him credit for," he said. "He brings in a young female to keep the attention of the pupils and he brings you in, to stop me from poisoning her simply on principal."

"And did it work?" Giles raised his eyebrows.

"Bearing in mind that you are probably the only person in the school who can brew a wider variety of potions than me, I think its safe to say you probably know a few more poisons than I do, so I would rather not get on your bad side."

"Oh don't mind me, Sev," the older man smirked. "Buffy is going to truly try your patience and I fully expect you to give as good as you get. I would be frightfully disappointed if you didn't."

"You're giving me leave to poison your charge?"

"I'm giving you leave to challenge her in whatever way you see fit, Sev," Giles corrected. "We are away from the Hellmouth for the first time in many years and she will need a vent for her energy. I believe that you - and possibly Spike - are the only things that could do so, without her having to resort to going into the Dark Forest."

"Why," Snape inquired. "Do I have the painful suspicion that this could prove to be deeply embarrassing for me?"

"Because you have met Willow Weasley?" Giles suggested with a smile. "I ought to warn you that she was the quietest, shyest member of this particular group of friends and Buffy was considered the Leader."

"Weasley is considered quiet and shy?"

"Painfully so."

"And I suppose you heard what she did during her first potions lesson?"

Giles snickered. "Oh, I heard about that all right. Yes, shy and quietest in the group, but frighteningly clever with both magic and muggle-work. If I recall correctly, she used to hack F.B.I. files when she got bored."

"And Summers was considered the leader?"

"Unashamedly so," There was a proud note in Giles voice. "She's incredibly strong, resourceful, witty, stubborn, willing to break rules where necessary...oddly like you and I in our younger days." He paused. "Only female, blonde, muggle, American..."

"You do realise that when this year is out, I will have to kill you?"

"What on earth for?"

Snape's lips thinned. "No doubt, you have already given your little hussy permission to use me as a sparring partner."

"At least I warned you about it, Sev. You have to admit that was a bonus," the older man said with a smile. "I told her there are boundaries: no more pinning you on the desk with a knife, but she is permitted to try you. And she will. At great length. And you will want to slip various poisons into her meals before the week is out."

"And why are you being such a sadist? What did I ever do to you?"

"Sev, I just want to see that you haven't lost your touch," Giles answered with a genuine smile. "Dawn tells me that you're a 'wicked cool bad-ass' and my Slayer has never had to deal with a human bad-ass before."

"I don't care if you're a watcher, you are an evil git."

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" A wicked grin flashed across the older man's face. "I got fired from the council. They didn't like my style. So," he cocked a brow. "Are you going to take the challenge? I know for a fact that Buffy thinks you are a...I think it was a 'big jerk' she called you."

Snape's eyes rose to the ceiling, a ponderous look crossing his face.

It had been a while since he had received a decent challenge that did not simply come down to someone who could brew a potion and if this little...tramp had been trained by Rupert Giles, then there was bound to be some element of wit and cunning in her nature.

Plus, he had to get revenge for her humiliation of him in her classroom.

Although it had not been witnessed by anyone, he still felt a burning rush of crimson rising up his neck at the very thought of it. 

"Rupert," he said calmly, bringing his eyes back down to his old friend, a slow, lazy smirk spreading on his face. "You better warn your little brat that if she so much as lays a finger on me, it will be war."

Rupert Giles' broad grin spoke measures. "I was hoping you would say that," he said happily, then chuckled. "The things I have to do for entertainment when I can't watch those bloody awful American sitcoms..."


	35. Forces Rising

FORCES RISING

Notes: This chapter may be a little stilted, simply because of the sheer amount of stuff to get through. We have the infamous poker tournament. We have Billy and Minnie daring each other to back down. We have Snape and Buffy drawing battle lines. And we have the core plot starting to move...hopefully, this one will stay under ten pages.

Also - muahahahah! I just had to ;)

Concluded note - Finished this chapter in five hours. 7200 odd words in 5 hours between cups of tea and reading too much old schtuff. And *whimpers* its the largest chapter so far. I don't know how I did it, but it actually felt like the shortest to write. Maybe its because I'm getting used to everyone in this 'version'. They're becoming wonderfully familiar to me now. Even Duncan Cameron, who is really starting to grow on me as a o/c. Whatever it is, I had severe amounts of fun.

Also, everything that happens does so for a reason to fit with in the 75 ch. storyline, so if you have questions, know that they are likely to be cleared up somewhere in the next 40 chapters. Eg: what was that box Dumble gave Spike? What was the book? What was the painting? Why is a certain character acting the way he is with a certain other character (in this chapter)? Things like this will all be answered in their own sweet time and as for pairings that everyone keeps asking about...I'm afraid you'd just have to wait and see. Yes, I know, I'm a fiend :-D I love it!

________________________________

No one could explain quite what happened.

One moment, the door of the Leaky Cauldron had swung inwards, a silhouette of a striking woman standing in the doorframe, the pale wash of winter light obscuring her facial features.

Tall, with a slim form and slight curves, she looked like she was having trouble staying upright, hands braced on the frame. From her silhouette, it was clear she was wearing a very short, very tight dress.

Most thought she was a muggle.

Every face had turned in her direction, some bored, some curious. Many later wished that they had fled the moment the door opened rather than witness what happened in the next moment, as she lowered her hands from the doorframe.

One instant she was at the door. 

Next instant...she was in the midst of them and had her fingers sunk to the knuckle in Mundungus Fletcher's skull, screaming out in rapture, as Fletcher went limp in front of her.

All eyes were locked on her, sheer terror and confusion spreading through the twenty or so witches and wizards who were present, all of them looking from her to the fallen wizard at her feet.

How?

What?

The wiser of those present starting carefully edging towards the side door of the pub, some with the intention of going for help from the Ministry, others just wanting to save their own arses.

Straightening up, the woman tossed blonde curls back from her face and let her blue-green eyes roam the faces. Her scarlet lips - which matched her scarlet dress - lifted up in a smile that might have been pretty if it hadn't looked so psychotic.

"God, that feels better," she purred, running her manicured hands through her hair, then down over her chest with a satisfied groan. "I gotta tell ya, it's hell travelling with minions. They just don't know where to find people for top ups."

Apparently, she didn't quite grasp the significance of twenty sticks pointed at her by various nervous, wary-looking humans.

"What have you done to him?" a small, brown-wearing witch shrieked, kneeling over the unfortunate Mundungus Fletcher, who was looking around with a blank expression on his face, his grey eyes out of focus.

One of the woman's brows lifted. "Duh, I needed a refill."

"Surrender!" a wizard snapped, walking towards her, wand raised. He sounded confident, looked fairly confident too, but his wand was shaking in his hand like a branch of a sapling in a force nine gale.

"What did you say?" the woman asked, cocking her head and crossing her arms over her chest. A wrinkle appeared in her smooth brow, which suggested that she wasn't too pleased at being spoken to so rudely.

"I said surrender! You have attacked a wizard! You are under arrest!"

"Pfft!"

That wasn't quite the reaction they expected.

"I needed a refill," she repeated boredly, as if the wizard approaching her was deeply stupid. "And now, you start pointing itty bitty sticks at me like you can try to hurt me with them? Puh-lease!" She took a lazy step towards him, stepping over Fletcher and the witch who was trying to make him focus on her. "But while you're being so chatty, hon, maybe you can tell me where they hid my key."

"K-Key?"

The woman smiled that strange, manic smile again. "The Slayer stole it. I want it back." She took another step towards him, uncaring of the wand in his hand. The grin on her face suggested that if he even tried to breathe, she would do something very, VERY unpleasant to him. "Now, you can tell me where it is."

***

"Good morning, Buffy."

Rupert Giles had just entered through the door of the Great Hall that lead out onto the High table, where every other member of staff was already sitting, Buffy being the one closest to the door, the additional 'muggle' table and the Gryffindor table.

Dawn flashed a grin up at him over her goblet, clearly pleased that she had managed to get her sister up and to the Great Hall in time for the breakfast. After all, it was such a rare occurrence for Professor Summers, so Dawn had every right to be proud.

Seated near her, Spike and Anya compared notepads filled with scribbles, still plotting tactics and stratagems for the now-infamous poker tournament that was being set up between the Sunnydalians and the staff. 

It had taken them nearly two weeks already to arrange a date, already. Giles had been dragged in as the final player for the Sunnydale side, while Professor Sprout and Flitwick had actually had a mini-duel for the chance to be the third Hogwarts player.

Unsurprisingly, Flitwick had won and Sprout was still plucking daisies out of her ears every morning, before breakfast.

Xander seething silently on the other side of the table, while Willow pensively made her egg do laps of the plate with no apparent intention of bringing the helpless food to her mouth.

She had been fine in the initial days since Buffy and her friends arrived, but Buffy had grown distracted by her classes and rivalry with Snape. Xander was trying to salvage his relationship with Anya, who had been spending more time in the company of Spike and Dumbledore than her lover.

Dawn had also made friends with some of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs from her Potions classes and often spent all of her free time with them, in a games room that Dumbledore had provided on her request.

The only person who Willow had been able to spend any time with was Hermione and that was only when she wasn't taking her classes. It was something, but Willow was rapidly turning in on herself, still lost after Oz's departure.

Glancing along the table, the watcher saw Hermione looking down at Willow with similar concern, her brown eyes dark with worry, mustard being poured onto her cereal. Giles made a note to talk to her afterwards.

Taking the final seat at the table, next to the Slayer, Giles gave her an exasperated look when she said nothing in response. "I said good morning, Buffy," he repeated, giving her a nudge.

Again, no response.

Looking a little more closely at her, Giles found her staring at him wildly out of the corner of her eyes, which flashed a furious look towards the opposite end of the table, where a familiar figure was casually slicing a grilled tomato.

Severus Snape looked up from his breakfast and smirked across at them both, eyes glittering. His chin dipped in a polite nod to Giles, then he returned his attention to the plate in front of him.

Giles was hard-pressed to smother a snort of laughter, despite Buffy's predicament.

The petrification potion.

It had been the first potion that he and Severus had worked on together. It was a very complex substance to make, owing to the fact that all ingredients had to be added in a specific time order. Even a second on either side could ruin the potion.

It was a testament to Snape's abilities that he could still brew one so well that it had his 'victim' of choice in a full body bind, with a goblet gripped in her hand at an odd angle, a puddle of pumpkin juice formed beneath her fist.

"I'm assuming that you would like me to get the antidote for this," Giles muttered to her, her eyes flashing in a silent, yet very emphatic yes.

Sliding out of his seat, Giles tried not to draw attention to himself - or the fact that the joint Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts was petrified - and rounded the High table to approach Snape.

"Sev," he murmured, giving Professor Hooch a polite nod, as she shifted aside to let him lean in to talk to the Potions teacher. "You do have an antidote for the draught you slipped into Buffy's meal, I assume."

"I have no idea what you are referring to, Rupert," Snape replied calmly. 

"Sev."

"All I am guilty of," he said, in what Giles supposed was a hurt tone of voice. "Is giving the house elves a particular variety of polish to use on the wonderful Slayer's eating utensils." His black eyes rose to Giles' in mock innocence.

Giles chuckled. 

Trust Severus to arrange it so that only the slightest of evidence could connect him to the crime. 

"And does anyone else chance to have this...polish on their cutlery, like...oh, I don't know...perhaps me?"

"Rupert, I am shocked, appalled and thoroughly disgusted that you would even imagine such a thing," Snape replied with a small smirk. "And have no fear for your precious little girl's well-being. It should wear off shortly."

"Shortly?"

"I ought to have enough time to walk back to the dungeon at a leisurely pace," the Potions Professor answered, laying his cutlery down on his plate and pushing his seat back from the table. "Inform Miss Summers that I did appreciate her kind gesture of sending a house elf and it's gift this morning."

"House elf?"

Snape, though, had swept out of his chair and down the Great Hall. 

Giles was impressed to notice that every table Snape passed seemed to duck over their food as soon as the potions Professor approached, falling strangely silent until he was out of hearing range.

Turning back to Buffy, he returned to his seat beside her and sat down. "You should be able to move again in a few minutes," he informed her under his breath. "And I would suggest that you don't go running after him to beat his head in, as you no doubt intend to."

Her hazel eyes flickered angrily.

"I am aware that you are rather...agitated," he acknowledged dryly. "But I hold you to your promise not to cause any physical damage to him. After all, he is a friend of mine and I'd rather not see him a bloody pulp."

"Frz..."

"I can see that he froze you, Buffy," Giles replied. "But that does not make it fair to beat his head in with his own cauldron."

"Isfr..."

"You might well think it fair, but I certainly don't."

The Slayer's face moved slowly into a scowl, her eyes flaring angrily. It seemed to take her an eternity before her mouth was able to move properly, as the rest of her body was released from the thrall of the potion.

"Kick...ass..."

Giles shook his head. "Buffy, he didn't physically harm you, so I'm afraid you can do no such thing," he said sternly. "And he did ask me to tell you something - thank you for the house elf and it's gift?"

The scowl shifted into a slight smirk. "Dobby."

"Dear God, Buffy...what did you make the poor creature do?"

Buffy's slight, slow smile widened into a strangely-evil looking grin, her hazel eyes gleaming with mirth. "Told him...that Snapey needed...a wake-up call...and he likes... male... strippers..."

"Oh dear Lord..."

Hazel eyes glimmered at him. "Got him back..."

"For what?"

"He replaced my conditioner with hair-growing potion two days ago," she replied, opening and shutting her mouth a few times to get some feeling back in her jaw. "I had to cut my hair six times before I could leave the room that day."

"You don't think strippers were a bit...drastic?"

"Giles! It was my hair!"

The ex-Watcher couldn't help chuckling, shaking his head. He knew it was going to prove interesting pitting his two favourite students against one another, but he had never imagined that they would sink to such levels of immaturity.

For the two weeks since they had arrived and since he had spoken to them both in turn, they had been baiting one another constantly, although Buffy had stood by her word and hadn't physically laid a finger on the man.

Not yet, at least.

Something told him that it wouldn't be very long until Buffy did resort to using her physical advantage of her Slayer strength and either slightly hurt or severely humiliate the Potions Professor.

"Bear in mind that you have classes all day today, Buffy..."

The Slayer exhaled a sigh. "I s'pose I can put off the ass-kicking until this evening... or until I get some feeling back in my legs," she said heavily, reaching for the slice of toast she had left on the plate.

"Well..." Whatever Giles was going to say was inadvertently cut off with a splutter of laughter, as Buffy's eyes rolled up in her re-frozen face, her hand holding the knife once again. "I-I ought to have warned you...don't touch the cutlery..."

Her eyes said, "Thank you VERY much."

***

"Oh, fabulous luminous one," Jinx bowed low as he eased around the door into the bedchamber of the illustrious Honeymoon Suite of the tavern known as the Leaky Cauldron, where the radiant Glorificus was reclining on the deep crimson silk sheets of the large bed. "Is it fitting for me to interrupt your worshipful nap?"

The room was entirely decorated in various shades of reds, garish pinks, peaches and colours that Glory adored. Even the plush rugs on the wooden floor and the candles in the elaborate gold candelabra in the corners of the room were red.

Drapes hung everywhere, making it look like a room from a Harem, or something equally exotic, silk pillows scattered everywhere. A fresh breeze rippled through the room, sweet and natural, with a slight hint of jasmine.

All in all, she liked the room and that was just the bedroom area. The bathroom...oh my God! It was beautiful! And the relaxation area was better than anything she could have found in Sunnydale. It was perfect. 

Stretching as she lazily sat up, her arms extending over her head, her sheer white silk nightshirt leaving very little to a horny and bumpy demon minion's imagination. One hand pushed her hair back from her face as she yawned.

Late afternoon sunlight was pouring in the window on the wall opposite the bed, but if her superb magnificence was troubled with the force of the evil known as jet-lag, Jinx was not going to be the one to suggest that she wait until night to sleep.

"What is it, Jinxy?" she asked. "Not another feeble human wanting to plead for mercy? You know that drives me crazy."

After her dramatic entrance to the Leaky Cauldron that morning, seven wizards and witches, who had not managed to escape the pub, were being held in the neighbouring rooms as a combination of supplies and hostages.

The Ministry had issued ultimatums to her, which she had ignored.

After all, she was a Hell-Goddess. No puny humans with magic sticks were going to tell her she couldn't stay in the fab-u-lous Honeymoon Suite of the neat little pub for free. Oh, and there had been some mention of them not liking her sucking the brains of their... 'kind' as well.

Free room.

Brain suckage.

They couldn't exactly stop her, either way, but it hadn't prevented every one of the hostages in the next room from trying to get to her and beg for release.

Only, she had told them, when she had her key.

Jinx hovered carefully in the doorway. "Not entirely, your most stunning fabul..."

He was cut off when something hit him from behind and hard, sending him crashing to the floor in a heap of filthy robes and bumpy skin, scaled feet waving futilely in the air as the person demanding entry stepped into the room.

"How can you tolerate such a contemptible little worm?" 

Sitting up a little, Glory blinked, surprised for first time since she had been so rudely kicked out of her dimension. Normally, no one would stalk into her rooms like that, or kick her minions about.

She liked the guy already.

"And just who are you, honey?" she demanded, easing towards the edge of the bed and sliding to her feet, her eyes staying on him.

Whoever he was, he looked like she felt all the time: like he knew he was above everything around them.

He was wearing clothes that were probably the Gucci, Calvin Klein and Prada of the wizard world, his robes cut to perfection and fitted to his form. Long, white-blond hair hung to his waist around an arrogant, pointed face, a casual smirk on his thin lips which did nothing to warm his cool grey eyes.

His left hand, clad in a black glove, rested on the head of black staff topped with an elaborate silver snake-head with emeralds for eyes. It looked so comfortable in his hand that it almost looked part of him.

"A friend, Miss...?"

"Glory," she replied, watching as his eyes casually slid down the sheer nightshirt she was wearing, then back up to her face, his lips rising in a suggestive smirk, clearly impressed with what he was seeing through the thin material. 

Whoa! 

She hadn't been checked out like that since M'rgolahth from the Foi'tsha dimension had visited her.

"The name's Malfoy," he said in a voice that resembled the low, dangerous growl of a lion at rest. Glory couldn't hide a grin. A dangerous male, and a wizard at that. What a good day this was turning out to be. "Lucius Malfoy."

"Lucius..." she repeated it. "Kinda nice name." 

"Your radiant beauteousness...!" Jinx apparently had disentangled himself from the robes, which had bound themselves over his head. He clearly didn't approve of the man who had just smacked him across the room with a stick.

"Shut up, Jinx," she murmured, still gazing up at this tall, light and very fascinating human creature. "So, Lucius, honey, wanna tell me why you came barging in on me in my boudoir when I could be all naked and bare for all to see? I mean, just because you see the clothing don't mean its there, you know...you know, right?"

One of his brows lifted again, but he didn't back away like the regular humans did when she started to babble.

Weird.

And kinda good too.

"Perhaps," he remarked. "You could use a top up. I heard what you did to Fletcher."

"Fletcher? Fletcher...right..." she nodded, hating the fact that her sanity always chose to depart at the worst possible moments. "Guy down the stairs with the big, big brain and the pulse with the boom boom boom...just like a drum with a beat of madness and the wild side."

"That would be Fletcher," Stamping his cane down on the floor once with a loud rap, the door opened again behind him, allowing two small creatures that looked like smoother version of her minions to bustle in, dragging a human. "A gift."

"Huh?"

Lucius Malfoy grabbed the collar of the figure, a sandy-haired young woman with terrified eyes, dragging her forward and thrusting her towards Glory. "A muggle to sate your appetite, perhaps," he replied.

Unable to think any straight, Glory reached up and stroked the girl's hair back from her face. She saw Lucius Malfoy's silver-grey eyes fixed on her and moaned as her fingers pushed into the girl's mind.

The girl cried out, as they always did, light radiating from her skull as Glory felt the power of the girl's sanity flood through her fingertips and into her own body, filling her with a ripe, delicious sense of pleasure.

"Whatta rush," she gasped, staggering. "Don't always get 'em that young..."

Malfoy's lips lifted in a smile as he looked down at the mumbling human, who was now kneeling on the floor. "I must say that you do have a remarkable technique for draining them," he said. "Certainly a great deal more traumatising for them and their families than simply killing them, no doubt."

"Kinda hard habit to break and humans...so much fun to play with," she sighed, stretching again, her shoulders rolling back and arms flexing as she felt the new energy rippling through her, her half-closed eyes on his face. His expression was one of intrigue and fascination. "So, Lucius, baby, you got my attention. Now, whaddya really want with me?"

"I hear you are looking for a Key," he murmured, approaching her and raising a hand to brush her hair back over her shoulders. For the first time in...like, ever, she didn't have the compulsion to push a man's hand away for invading her own personal goddessly space.

"You got that right," Glory scowled. "Damn Slayer stole it."

Malfoy's lips lifted further. "I have something of a...private vendetta against the Slayer myself," he said. "As I have had little to...occupy my time since my Master fell, I was wondering if I may be of some assistance to you, as you are unfamiliar with my world and I have connections in many places. And you do have that delightful way of destroying muggles and mudbloods..."

"I don't care about them. Why should I? I want what's mine."

Lucius Malfoy's silvery eyes gleamed. "An admirable sentiment," he said softly, the tips of his gloved fingers brushing the strap of her nightshirt off her shoulder. "And such an attractive..." His gaze dipped down her body again, his lips quirking. "Nature, too," he finished.

Her own eyes on his hand that was touching, but not quite touching her shoulder, Glory felt a smile coming to her lips. This guy might be all right and if he wasn't, hell! He'd be some fun for a while at least.

"You wanna help me get my key back, baby?" she asked, staring up at him. She was nearly as tall as he was. nearly, but not quite. Just enough height on him to have her looking up.

"If it proves an affront to the Slayer and a connection to your wondrous sanity-draining weapon, I would be delighted," he replied, taking another step closer to her, grey eyes holding blue-green. "I do so love to work in close proximity to those who think on the same lines as I do."

"Are you talking about hating the Slayer or screwing?" Glory inquired, grabbing the front of his robes and pulling him towards her. "Cause, baby, you keep talkin' the way you are and I am _so_ open for both."

One of Malfoy's gloved hands came up, his fingertips raising her chin. "Whichever you prefer to consider, Glory," he replied with a predatory smile, before bringing his lips down on hers.

***

"C'mon, Willow!"

"I don't want to."

Hermione, her hands on her hips, sighed in the direction of the arched ceiling. "Miss Willow Weasley, you better drag your pitiful backside out of that bed before I count to five, or else I'll..."

"Else what?" Willow rolled onto her side from her belly to regard the brown-haired witch, her expression glum. She was wearing one of Oz's old, baggy shirts over a pair of jeans and her hair was unbrushed, her face pale and wan.

There was a brief moment of silence as Hermione considered her reply, studying Willow. She and Giles had managed to discuss the young red head earlier in the day, both of them worried about her.

Now, clad in her most comfortable muggle shirt and jeans, she had come up with the perfect way to get Willow up and about again. "I suppose I would just join you there and sing at you, until you decide you have had enough and run away from me."

"Why would I run away?"

"You obviously haven't heard me singing before," Hermione said with a smile that earned a small smile from Willow, who reluctantly sat up. "Come on, Willow, it'll be funny! We have to go along!"

"It's only a game of poker, Hermione."

The older witch shook her head, a wickedly dirty grin creeping onto her lips. "Its not just poker," she replied, her eyes twinkling. "It's strip poker, but only McGonagall, Spike and I know."

"Dumbledore, Flitwick, Giles and McGonagall are playing strip poker?" A nauseous expression crossed Willow's face.

"Willow, trust me, there is no way that we'll have to see any of them undressed," the witch replied. She really did look very pleased with herself about something. "Only Spike and Anya will end up partially clothed or anywhere close to naked."

"And you know this how?"

"Snaffled their famous notepads while they were practising," Hermione replied with a dignified sniff.

"And relayed the information onto your side?"

"I'm a loyal Hogwarts Teacher," Hermione tried to maintain the dignified facade, but couldn't help grinning broadly at the red-haired witch in front of her. "And I want a chance to see Spike sans clothing."

"Hermione!" Willow squeaked.

Hermione started laughing. "Honestly, Willow! How can I still shock you? We've been living together for nearly three months!"

"You were joking?"

"Initially yes," Hermione answered after a brief pause. "But now, just thinking about it, don't you want to see what he's hiding under all that black?" Brown eyes twinkled mischievously. "I mean, you look at him and think 'Yum'. I want to know if the sweet is as promising as it's wrapper."

"Hermione!" Willow tried to look scandalised.

"Admit it," the older witch laughed. "You're curious too."

"Well..."

"HA!"

"Hey! I just said 'well'!"

"And that's close enough to be a yes in my book," Hermione said cheerfully, leaning over the bed and grabbing Willow's arm, hauling the younger witch to her feet. "We better move if we want to see him go from fully clothed to naked."

"Eep!"

"You really do blush awfully, easily, don't you, Will?"

Willow scowled. "I've been worse since I met you."

Hermione just laughed. "Nice to see I've had such a positive effect," she said, looping her arm through Willow's as they made their way to the door and out onto the spiral staircase that lead down to the halls.

***

"Mmm."

"My sentiments entirely."

Leaning up to look down at the face of the man beside her, Glory's lips quirked up in a smile. "I love the way you talk," she remarked, one hand spread on his chest. "It's so absolutely cutey patootie!"

"Cutey patootie?" Lucius Malfoy repeated, one brow rising.

They were sprawled in the enormous bed in Glory's suite in the Leaky Cauldron, the sheets and pillows in disarray around them. Half-draped over his body, her fingers were taking in the warm texture of his strange, smooth skin.

It was one of the most positive benefits of being in a female human form, she knew, to be able to interlock intimate parts with the male of the species and create some kind of pleasure from it.

"Yeah, sweetie," she smirked. "You're a little old cutie patootie."

"Were you anyone else, I would kill you for calling me such an idiotic name," It was said with an amused gleam in his eyes.

"No can do, baby," she bent her head and claimed a kiss. "Can't kill a goddess."

"A goddess?" The amused gleam was replaced with shrewd speculation. Smart guy, this one. Sneaky.

"You got me, baby," she purred as his hand rose and wove through her thick mass of curly blonde hair, drawing her lips to his again. "I'm a Goddess of Hell and madness with a little bit of the burning, burning...burning like a flickering dancing..."

Malfoy sat up, holding her at arm's length. "Jinx," he bellowed in a way that she would have bellowed herself.

The minion scampered in, stopping short, eyes bugging, at the sight of his Mistress' naked body, where she was kneeling on the bed next to an equally naked wizard, his mouth opening and shutting several times.

"Your lady needs replenished, Jinx," Lucius stated. "Get someone now."

"Wh-what?"

"Refill, you filthy little cretin," A thin stick of black wood appeared in the long-haired man's hand, pointed straight at Jinx. It went without saying that the minion knew that arguing with a man with a magic stick wasn't a good idea. "Now." 

The scabby little minion scampered off and Lucius Malfoy continued to hold Glory at arm's length, making certain to keep her hands as far from his skull as possible until Jinx returned, dragging one of the witches from the bar.

"Glory," Malfoy gave her a push in the direction of the human, who she grabbed. A strangled cry escaped her as she drew the sanity from the witch's mind, the power making her stagger back when she withdrew her fingers. 

"Oh God...powerful..."

"She was a witch," Malfoy drawled, leaning back on his elbows, as she sat back down on the edge of the bed. "They do tend to have more power and brains than the average muggle possesses."

"You don't like non-magics?" Glory sat down beside him, drawing a slow breath as she felt tingles of power moving through her. Her eyes slowly opened and she looked down at him. 

For a human not to intervene when she drained the minds from other humans, in fact to encourage it...it was definitely rare and she definitely was amused by the thought of having a pet human to be her little helper.

His lip curled in a sneer. "What would be the point of a non-pureblood? It's absurd and obscene. Breeding with them..." he shook his head in disgust. "If I had my way, the world would be purged of mud-bloods and half-bloods."

"Baby, you stick with me and it will be," Glory leaned over him and claimed his lips in another hard kiss.

***

The constant knocking on his portrait-door had been going on for nearly half an hour, but Snape had managed to ignore it.

At least, he had managed to ignore until that annoying, shrill female voice started to whine. "Snapey...c'mon, Snapey...you're no fun..." THEN she had started to bloody well sing-song it. "Snape-y, Snape-y..."

Slamming his hands down on the desk, which stood against the wall of his room, he clenched his teeth together, making a mental note to find a powerful silencing spell, as he came to his feet.

He had never needed such a spell before now...

Before the Summers hussy had arrived.

Storming towards the door, he threw the painting open with such force he actually heard the occupant utter a girly shriek of surprise. Summers stood there, grinning up at him in a way that he had grown suspicious of.

She was still wearing her muggle clothes that she wore while teaching, suggesting that she had come straight from supper to find him. How she had found his room, he didn't want to know.

He was still clad in his robes, as he always was. He never changed after classes, until he had finished marking the work and planned for the classes the next day and even then, it was only to go to bed.

"Snapey, I thought you were ignoring me."

"Do not call me by that name," he said quietly, one hand pressed in a fist against the back of the portrait. "And depart. I would prefer to have a single night where I am not distracted or interrupted by you."

"But I owe you, Snapey," she said, smirking at him in a way he was starting to grow quite unnerved by. "I owe you big."

"I...in what way?"

"In the way that you froze me twice at breakfast and left me sitting there looking like a dumb bimbo."

"I'm afraid you did that entirely by yourself, Summers."

There was an odd flicker in her eyes and before he could register what it meant, a shoulder had rammed into his stomach and he was swung off his feet, his upper body dangling down the Slayer's back, her left arm locked around his legs. 

Her right arm came rapidly across her back, her small, but frighteningly strong hand catching his wrists before he had even realised where, when, what and how he was, pinning his arms together.

"SUMMERS!"

He had never been more mortified!

He was slung over a tiny tart of a girl's shoulder, his arse in the air and no way to break free.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded harshly, trying to jerk his hands free, but it only served to make her hold onto him tighter. He kicked out with his feet, only gaining the same effect from her other arm.

She didn't answer right away, starting to walk away from his room. He could see the portrait on the door staring after them. The figure in the painting had a hand clapped to its mouth and it was laughing hysterically.

"Summers!"

"Snapey," she chastised cheerfully, as she jogged up a flight of stairs. "I want to get my revenge on you, but this one...well, let's say its a punishment as well. I should have done this days ago."

"Done what?" he asked, his voice jolting as she bound up the stairs. How the devil could she run up all the stairs, with him on her shoulder and actually manage to talk without sounding even a little out of breath?

"You remember the first time we met, when I told you to wash your hair?" she said, as they reached the top of the stairs and she spun around. Snape watched the black and white floor whirling before his eyes, growing increasingly dizzy. Apparently deciding on a direction to go, she walked briskly onwards, with him still bouncing against her shoulder. "I told you to do that and you didn't. Do you remember what I said I would have to do?"

The Potions master went rigid.

Surely she would never dare!

Her determined pace told him otherwise.

"Summers!" His violent struggles renewed in earnest this time, he hissed as her arm tightened around his legs when he tried to hurl himself sideways off her shoulder, her grip on his wrists increasing. "Dammit, Summers! Release me!"

She laughed!

The shameless little trollop laughed!

"Oh, I don't think so, Snapey," she cooed with mock-sweetness. "Ah! Here we are!"

Severues Snape's frenzied spout of proficient, explicit and colourful curses were quickly cut off as the Slayer carried him into the room she had chosen, the door closing on them.

***

"Hey! No fair!"

Duncan Cameron flashed a broad grin across the pool table at Dawn, who was glaring at him. "Just because ye cannae hit the ball," he teased. "Disnae mean the rest of us are crap at the game."

The two teenagers had snuck down to the games room after curfew, after Dawn had managed to steal Harry Potter's invisibility cloak from Willow's bedroom, Willow and Hermione both absent.

The games room was near the staircase that lead up from the Entrance Hall, one of the large, unused rooms which had once served as a classroom in times past. With high, arching ceilings, it was illuminated by torches on each of the four columns, which lined every one of the creamy-white stone walls.

Various muggle forms of entertainment were in the room: a full-size pool table; a foozball table; a set of magically-powered arcade games; a space-hockey table: all on Dawn's request.

Only a few of the people that Dawn knew had been invited to her games room and most of them - especially the students from wizarding families - loved it, because they had never had a chance to visit a games arcade like it before.

However, it was centrally Dawn and Duncan who spent time there, between his classes and when he wasn't doing homework, which she had sometimes been able to help him with, especially with D.A.D.A. and Potions.

"Just because you're a show-off and probably have your own...oh!" she exclaimed, pointing at him accusingly. "I get it! You're cheating! You're using magic and you're cheating so you'll win!"

"Don't be daft, Dawn," he laughed. "If I was doin' magic, you'd be able to tell, because I'd have blown the table to pieces."

"You do kinda suck at charms, don't you?"

"Hey!"

Dawn grinned. "Well, you do! You almost blew Professor Flitwick out the window with the wind charms."

"At least I made the wind charm work," Duncan tried to feign annoyance, leaning down and potting the last ball on the pool table. "Did ye see the look on Gilmerton's face when he blasted himself out the door?"

Roger Gilmerton was a snooty, pure-blooded Ravenclaw who just happened to be in the same charms class as Duncan and, while he was very clever, it didn't make up for his lack of wand control.

Dawn and Duncan had decided it was their sworn duty to bug the crap out of him.

"It was like 'Aaaaaah! Mommy! Help!'," Dawn laughed, shaking her head. "That guy is such a jerk sometimes."

"Only sometimes?" her companion inquired, grinning.

"All right, all the time," she said as Duncan placed the cue on the empty table and looked around the room. Dawn followed his gaze towards the large grandfather's clock, which proclaimed it to be close to midnight. "God! It got late real fast!"

"Or early," Duncan agreed. "Think we should go back?"

Dawn nodded, worrying her lower lip. "Buffy's gonna kill me."

"Oh, don't worry about her," Duncan grinned. "I bet she's out settin' up another trap for old Snape."

"I'll bet." 

The Snape-Summers enmity was already growing to legendary proportions even though they had only been enemies for a couple of weeks. Unknown to Buffy, who told her sister what 'that jerk' had done to her, Dawn relayed everything onto her friends, who relayed it onto their respective houses.

It went without saying that every pupil in the school knew that Professors Summers and Snape were locked in a one-up-man-ship contest, which was very entertaining to hear about and see if you were quick enough.

Retrieving the invisibility cloak, Duncan and Dawn headed towards the portrait that covered the doorway and pulled the cloak on, before stepping out into the moonlight-flooded halls of the school.

They had just crossed the landing of the staircase at the top of the Entrance Hall and were on the way down the corridor towards the common room, when a door opened in the middle of the dimly lit hall.

Grabbing at Duncan's arm beneath the cloak, both of them backed into the nearest window box, which was flooded with clear moonlight, warily watching for whoever or whatever was moving inside the room. 

Whatever it was, they could hear wet fabric slapping against the doors in the dark, suggesting that it was probably soaked. The hall was so dark that they could barely see anything, including the door, leaning around the edge of the window box in time to see the occupants of the room.

A tall figure staggered out, making strangely moist squishy noises with every step it took, a second smaller figure striding out of the room after it, a gasp from Dawn suggesting that she recognised who the two figures were. 

"If I wasn't so sure you would break my arms, I would strangle you, Summers," a male voice snarled. Snape.

A laugh escaped the other figure. "Sure you would, Snapey," the voice said and Dawn mentally moaned. What had Buffy been doing in the Prefect showers with Snape of all people? "And remember, you try and get it back to normal, I _will_ do the same again. Repeatedly if I have to."

Snape said something so rude to her sister that Dawn went scarlet under the cloak, her mouth opening in shock. Yeah, Snape had been a bad guy in his time, but where had he learned language like _that_?

Buffy just laughed again, as Snape spun and stormed off. It would have been an impressive storm if his shoes hadn't kept making those funny, little squishing sounds with every pace down the hall, leaving a trail of gleaming puddles on the stone.

Dawn risked a glance at Duncan under the cloak. Even by the moonlight, he was as white as a sheet, unable to believe what he had just seen and heard, involving his Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor and Potions Professor.

"Can he call her that?" he asked Dawn shakily.

"Looks like it," Dawn whispered back, as Buffy, also squishing as she walked off in the opposite direction, disappeared. "C'mon, we gotta get back to the common room and I'll sleep in there tonight."

They started down the hall a little more cautiously.

Unfortunately, it seemed to be the night for seeing things they rather wouldn't.

"Have to catch me first!" a voice yelled as they were passing the opening onto one of the spiral staircases that lead up to one of the tower rooms. Dawn blanched. It was only the tower room where the...

"Aw, shite!" Duncan hissed, yanking her back, behind a suit of armour. "The Poker game was tonight!"

Hermione raced out of the opening onto the stairs, dragging the laughing and scarlet in the face Willow after her, by the hand. Her other arm was occupied by a pile of clothes that looked distinctly black and red...

"Hermione!" a male voice yelled. "Bring my sodding clothes back! Now!" 

"Oh no!" Dawn squeaked, clapping her hands over her eyes. "Don't look, Duncan!"

Duncan's reaction time seemed to have slowed due to the shock of hearing Snape calling Summers Senior some of the rudest things he had ever heard. Whatever caused it, he didn't look away from the opening in time.

A tall, lean and very naked Spike ran out, pausing and looking left and right.

Duncan's eyes bugged and he hastily averted his eyes. "Oh my gawd..."

"Told you," Dawn moaned. "Is he gone?"

"I'm not checking!"

"Good thing too, pet," Spike's voice spoke from nearby, making them both squeal and grab at each other. "Niblet," Spike added, chuckling. "I'd get back to your dorm, if I were you, before big sis finds you're gone or Red and the Prof find out you've filched their cloak."

"I'll say," Dawn mumbled, her eyes still pressed closed. "But can you just take your big, nudey nakedness away?"

"Why'd'you think I'm about to go up to the tower and wrestle those two feisty birds to get my togs back?" Spike chuckled, patting on top of her cloaked head, after missing twice and jabbing Duncan in the eye. "Can't be corrupting your innocent eyes until you're legal, pet."

"Spike!" Dawn wailed.

"And this, luv, is why you don't go sneaking about after hours," the vampire said with an amused chuckle. "You never know what you might see or hear."

"Yeah, lesson learned, no more sneaking out! Will you just go away already?"

Silence.

Opening her eyes, Dawn looked around Duncan cautiously. 

"SPIKE! Eeeeew!"

The vampire just laughed at her horrified shriek, then ran off, his bare feet slapping against the stone of the floor.

"We are _so_ not doing this again," Dawn mumbled. "I have naked-Spike burned into my head now...ew...its like seeing a brother naked..._so_ didn't need to see any of it..."

"Ditto," Duncan said, his voice a little faint. "Can...can we go back to the tower?"

"Hopefully without seeing or hearing anything again. Ever."

"Uh huh..."

Supporting one another, in silence, they staggered through the corridors, trying to scrape the image of naked Spike from their minds, while trying to forget the litany of unpleasant things that Snape had called Buffy.

Definitely no more sneaking out.


	36. Control

The Eighth Weasley 

Chapter Thirty-Six - The Eighth Weasley CONTROL

Notes: This chapter only has a few prerequisite scenes, so its *hopefully* not going to be too long, although - knowing my luck - it'll overshoot drastically and go straight into the multipages. Herein, we see what the results of Snape & Buffy's little... ah... meeting were. Poor Snapey. I really can be evil. You'd never know I love the guy, would you?

_________________________

The door behind the staff table opened on the crowded Great Hall opened, hardly noticed by the students, who were chattering over breakfast, a single figure easing into the hall clearly trying to avoid being noticed.

Unfortunately, when a person tries to be ignored, it usually has the opposite affect.

Sure enough, one by one, a face at a time, every head turned towards the Potions Professor who had slid silently into his seat at the table, his expression blacker and more frightening than anyone could ever recall seeing it.

The whole hall rapidly fell into a deathly silence.

A pin could have been dropped and heard.

Black eyes directed an equally dark look in the direction of the petite, blonde Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts, who was smiling amiably and munching on a slice of toast.

Suddenly, what they were seeing made sense.

At the middle of the Gryffindor table, a brown-haired, blue-eyed Scottish boy by the name of Duncan Cameron released a loud snort of laughter that rang off the walls of the Great Hall.

It was like a pebble dropped in a pool, the ripples of mirth spreading.

Snape's face twisted bitterly, his nostrils flaring, his lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes glittering with malevolence. All in all, he would have looked as terrifying as he always did, if not more so than usual.

Except for one thing.

Clean and beautifully groomed hair hung around his face.

Professor Summers looked exceptionally proud of herself, raising a hairbrush - which seemed like a natural thing for a glamorous young Professor such as herself to carry - in salute to the Potions Master, which got a roar of laughter from the pupils.

Professor Snape glared at her.

"Oh, don't worry, Snapey," Summers called across the table to him, where he was infuriated to notice Minverva McGonagall chuckling behind a hand and Dumbledore shooting twinkling looks at him. "Once they get used to it, you'll be fine!"

All eyes went from the blonde to the clearly fuming Potions professor.

The dark glare he was giving the likeable little blonde woman seemed to be building in a centre of loathing and dislike, which was surrounding him in an almost palpable black aura.

Had Summers been absent, every pupils knew without a doubt, that they would have been cowering silently on their benches, had Snape looked so deadly.

Even just seeing Snape that angry from a distance was bad enough and a few of the classes who knew they were having him later in the day visibly started shaking as his glare flashed to them.

"Oh, come on, Snapey! Its not that bad!"

Black eyes turned back to her and every person in the Hall saw Snape's hand locked around the handle of the sharpest implement he had available on the table: a serrated bread knife.

"Summers," he said, his voice almost deathly quiet, his expression not openly-hostile, but coldly raging. "Your mouth is open. Sounds are coming out of it. Neither of these actions is productive. Desist."

Summers smirked at him and returned to munching on her toast.

Giles looked like he was having trouble smothering his laughter, one hand resting against his mouth, as subtly as it could without him looking like he had clapped his hands over his mouth.

Leaning slightly forward to study Snape, Professor McGonagall arched an eyebrow at him, then at the hair. Shaking her head, she returned to her breakfast, although there was a glint in her eye that hadn't been there before.

Dumbledore's muffled giggles were clearly grating on Snape, who looked like he was thinking very seriously about rescinding the oath of loyalty he had given the old man and belatedly offering Voldemort the wizard's head on a platter.

However, it was the younger Summers woman that had actually caused the worst possible reaction, when she stuck two fingers of each hand in her mouth and released a piercing wolf-whistle.

Scarlet patches flared on Professor Snape's sallow cheeks and Dumbledore's merry, full-force belly laugh rang up to the rafters, instigating further bouts of giggles among the pupils. 

***

"Omigod..."

"Seconded." Outside the Great Hall, after breakfast, Dawn and Duncan were leaning against one another, gasping for breath, tears of mirth streaming down their faces at what they had just seen.

"I didn't think she would..."

"I dinnae think he thought it either," Duncan agreed, shaking his head.

They both started laughing again, recalling what they had seen the previous night, on their way back to Gryffindor tower, and comparing it with what they had seen in the Hall that morning.

Snape.

With clean hair.

"What on earth are you two laughing about?" another voice interrupted. 

"You mean you kinda missed out on seeing Professor Snape with washed and brushed and non-greasified hair, at the high table?" Dawn snickered, her blue eyes glinting with amusement as she turned to the girl. 

Like the other pupils around her, Dawn had started wearing a Gryffindor uniform, which was very becoming on her, even though she only sat in on most classes because of her lack in magical abilities.

Except Potions.

Much to everyone's surprise, including her sister - who claimed she couldn't mix any given substances to save her life - she had proved to have a natural aptitude for the subject and Snape had let her join in the potion brewing, although he complained loudly about it.

She knew for a fact, though, that he actually appreciated someone who could brew a decent potion, unlike most of her classmates, who were to busy being utterly terrified of the Potions master.

As far as she could tell, she was the only person in her whole class - even among the Slytherins - who was not afraid of the sinister teacher. He just reminded her far too much of Spike in his attitude to her, for her to really be afraid of him.

"I thought it was funny like everyone else in the Hall did, but you don't remember, do you?" Nicola Ledger, another of the Gryffindor fourth years moaned, looking very pale in the face, almost washed with grey under her curly black hair. "Haven't you forgotten what we have first thing?"

Dawn and Duncan exchanged looks, then looked at Nicola.

"Potions," Nicola whispered. "Twenty minutes..."

"Oh," Dawn said. "Oh!"

Duncan's face had gone a funny shade of green. "I...I think," he said, in a shakier voice than usual. "Now would probably be a good time to tell Dumbledore I want tae leave the school..."

***

"And today, we're going to be talking to you about...Giles?"

Standing behind the desk in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, Giles motioned to the covered tank in front of him. "Grindylows," he answered, pulling the cover off, revealing a small, slimy-looking demon pressing against the glass of a tank that looked like it should have goldfish in it.

"Ewww!"

Several third year pupils giggled at their Professor's exclamation.

Defence Against the Dark Arts classes had certainly become very interesting since the blonde and her older companion had taken the helm, with Professor Summers blunt and to the point descriptions of what they were facing and Mr. Giles' lessons in magical defences.

They seemed an odd counter-point for one another. On occasion, they would fire snippy comments back and forth at one another, but every pupil could tell there was a deep-rooted affection behind it.

"As you can see," Professor Summers said, turning back to her class, a twisted look on her face. "We're going to be discussing the slimy gross thing in the tank, that Mr. Giles was so kind to bring in."

"I thought you would appreciate it," he chuckled. 

There were a few more laughs from the class when Professor Summers made a face at him, then turned back to the class. 

"Now," she looked around at them. "Can anyone tell me what a Grindylow does and why it is considered a dark creature?" Half a dozen hands shot up, a sign that at least a few of them had done the assigned reading. "Sharn?"

Behind her, Buffy Summers didn't notice the proud expression on Rupert Giles' face, as she took answers, comparing them to the notes he knew she had made on the subject and started to teach the group of teenagers, who hung on her every word.

Like Summers, Giles had been somewhat dubious about her teaching credentials, but after a chat with Professor Dumbledore on the day she had arrived, her confidence had rapidly built.

Every day, when she wasn't thinking up new ways to humiliate Professor Snape, she was poring over Defence Against the Dark Arts books, making pages of notes about the creatures she was teaching on.

It had been a source of great amusement in the staff room, when the staff body had first walked in on her, bogged down with even more books than Hermione usually carried and exclaiming about how exciting the 'Mnumfar Report on Dark Creatures and their origins' was.

While she had never been the most studious of people, she was fascinated by the whole new range of dark creatures that she had never faced before. She had taken to appearing at his room in the middle of the night with excited exclamations about some kind of new beastie that she had found in some book or other.

She was taking her job seriously, determined to teach the children as much as she possibly could, while being unable to teach them any actual spells and magic and she was getting very good at it.

Somehow, she knew how to lecture about dark creatures without being dull, holding the attention of the attention-deficient teenagers, steering them back to focus when it became clear that their minds were wandering.

Perhaps, Giles mused, it was because she had the experience.

After all, she had had to deal with him lecturing her in ways that he could now see were incredibly boring for a teenager to sit through. She had taken the minor flaws in his old Watcher style and developed it into a new style.

Using anecdotes about her own confrontations with similar creatures, she had caught their interest. 

Walking around the classroom as she taught, instead of being a read-from-the-notes lecturer, and actually listening to what the pupils had to say, chatting with them, willing to give them her free time, she had won their affections.

Giles had never been prouder of any Slayer, but he had also never been prouder of the girl, who was like a daughter to him.

She had flourished from a dizzy, rebellious and awkward with her position in the world teenager into a young woman, who had wisdom and strength beyond her years and was now, for the first time, able to share it.

It was truly a privilege to see her at work.

And in conflict with Snape too, his mental voice added with amusement.

Giles couldn't help snickering at the thought. What had he done in pushing the two oppositions together? Would they kill each other before the year was out? Judging by the look on Snape's face at breakfast...

Even Angel hadn't been as different from Buffy as Snape was. 

The biggest difference was that Angel had been a vampire. That wasn't a factor in the Buffy-Snape conflict, but everything else...

They were just complete contradictions of one another: blonde versus dark; female versus male; American versus British; cynical versus optimistic; happy versus grim; cheerful versus gloomy; physically strong versus mentally strong.

And Giles had taught them both to some extent.

It really was going to be interesting to see who emerged the victor in the battle of wits and power that he had instigated.

He smirked.

Very interesting.

***

"So you're coping are you, Mister...er...The Bloody?"

Lounging in the shadowy alcove that looked out over the bustling Entrance Hall, watching pupils milling about, Spike raised his light blue eyes to the Professor of Muggle Studies. 

"Well, I finally got my boxers back, if that's what you mean," he answered. Out of sunlight, the blond-haired vampire had taken to sitting in the deep niche, which had a cushioned ledge, where he could watch the comings and goings of the student body and usually avoid detection. He liked it that way, being able to just watch, instead of being goggled at all the time. "Top of the North tower... very amusing."

After the strip poker game and after Hermione had absconded with Spike's clothing, a battle had ensued in the girls' tower room, involving a pouncing and very naked vampire trying to retrieve all his clothing.

Sadly, Spike had ended up having to run around the grounds to find everything, while Minerva McGonagall had leaned out one of the tower windows and made biting remarks in a magically magnified voice about him and his card-playing abilities.

The vampire and former vengeance demon had lost the game hands down, thanks to Hermione sneaking their tactic notebooks to Dumbledore, Flitwick and McGonagall, leaving Xander trying to his embarrassment as his girlfriend strolled around, quite comfortable in her underwear.

Spike, though, had been the only one unfortunate enough to have his clothing filched by a seemingly respectable and professional Professor and her esteemed and equally intelligent red-haired roommate.

The clothing which had ended up strewn all over the school and grounds.

Spike had been mildly amused by it all, but had covered it with bitter growls and proficient cursing.

"Don't blame me," Hermione grinned at the vampire, sitting down on the lip of the ledge he was occupying. The pair got on strangely well, although, Hermione was one of the few members of staff that actually knew what Spike was. "Willow tried to banish them, but she still hadn't quite got the knack with that wand of hers yet."

"So I noticed," he replied dryly, leaning against the side wall of the deep ledge that was cut into the thick wall. He stared at the wall opposite him for several moments, then looked at Hermione. "How is she?"

"Genuine interest or fishing for possible ammunition?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

Spike gave her an offended look. "Luv, I like Red as much as the next person," he said, giving her a measured look. "Although obviously not quite as much as someone hereabouts, am I right?"

"Willow's a friend of mine, Spike. I don't want you hurting her," the witch said, her voice low and quiet, but laced with threat.

"As much as it would thrill me, I'm afraid I'll have to say I'm not up for breaking the broken hearted," the vampire answered, looking away from her and studying the grey stone in front of him. "I've seen how much the wolf leaving damaged her. She was good to me, little Red."

"She doesn't cry in the night anymore, which is a start," Hermione volunteered the information in a low voice. "Quite a few nights, she's just needed someone to hug her and keep her company. Like a comfort blanket or something."

There was a melancholy note in the young woman's voice that made Spike shift his eyes to her again.

"And you, luv?" he asked, studying her intently. What do you need?"

Brown eyes avoided him for a moment. "Not a horny vampire, of that I'm more than certain," she smiled faintly at him. "It doesn't matter what I need. Willow...she's unhappy needs someone to lean on at the moment. Nothing more."

"Maybe she needs someone to make her happy again," Spike suggested, his voice neutral, his eyes returning to the wall in front of him, swinging his toes from side to side against the stone and watching them move. "Like she did last time..."

Hermione, who had risen to her feet after the first statement, looked back down at him in surprise. "What do you mean 'like the last time'?" she asked a little sharply, a glow in her cheeks.

Blue eyes met brown. "She found a friend a lot like you, Granger," he said in a low voice. "Not as confident or gobby, that's true," Hermione glared, making him grin at her. "But someone who wanted to make her happy again."

"O-oh."

Spike smiled.

It wasn't a smirk that she was used to seeing, the smirk that reminded her an awful lot of Draco Malfoy, but it was a genuine smile that made his blue eyes twinkle in a way similar to Dumbledore's.

"Ask her about Tara, when you have time," he suggested.

"Tara?" Hermione blinked. "A girl? That was her...her..."

The smirk returned. "And when I said friend, I don't mean the 'lets sit together and make daisy-chains kind of friend', Granger," he said dryly. "She didn't think anyone knew about it, but..." he tapped the side of his nose. "A man can tell."

"A vampire can tell, you mean."

Spike nodded. "That too."

Standing over him, the Professor of Muggle Studies gazed down, a suspicious, hard expression creeping onto her face. "And is there any reason you're making these revelations to me, Spike?"

"Like I said, luv, I like Red. She was better to me than any of the rest of that rag tag band and if you're the one to make her smile again..." The genuine smile returned, making his eyes seem so much warmer. "Well, I won't hold it against you."

"You really like her?"

"After what I put the little bint through, I'm amazed she didn't stake me right off. I almost bumped her off at least three times and she still treated me well. Snuck me cookies and extra blood when no one was looking," A reminiscent look crossed his face. "If I didn't have this chip, she would have been my undead Princess."

Hermione was blinking down at him. "You...you would have turned her?"

"Wouldn't you, luv?" He gave her a wicked little grin. "You have to admit there's something about a dainty little thing like her that's intoxicating. The red hair, the pale skin, the shyness and yet...the power."

"Er..."

"I'll take that as a yes," Swinging his legs out of his cubbyhole, Spike straightened up and looked down at the woman in front of him. "Trust me on this, Prof, Red needs to be loved. It's her big weakness." Hermione opened her mouth to pose a question, but a cool fingertip touched her lips. "This isn't anything books or spells can help you solve. Red has to be loved and to be loving someone or else she just goes utterly to pieces. Believe me, I know from the past experience...an engagement to the Slayer isn't something I want to repeat."

"Eh?"

"Trust me when I say you're safer not knowing," he said, his expression serious. 

"And you're doing this why?"

The half-smirk lifted the vampire's pale lips up. "Can you imagine the look on old Minnie's face?" he replied, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "I mean, she's always been dubious about...well...everything but this..."

"Old Minnie?" Spike clearly realised he'd made a slip. "Spike, why on earth do you call her Minnie? And how do you know she's always been dubious about..." A deep blush suffused Hermione's cheeks, but she pressed on. "How do you know?"

The vampire cleared his throat. "Ah...well...y'see, its a kind of funny story...we met fifty years back, got pissed, chatted about everything...kind of lost touch...met up here and got to reminiscing..." He cleared his throat again. "And anyway, bollocks to that! This is about you and Red! You get your arse in gear and comfort her!" 

"I can't believe you're encouraging this..."

Spike chuckled. "Well, you've been moping around with a face like a wet weekend, because you're worrying about her. It kills two birds with one...er...well," A dirty grin crossed his lips. "I don't think you'll use a stone, but you get the idea..."

"Spike!"

The vampire just grinned.

***

"Enter!"

"Still a little testy, I see." 

The Potions Master turned from the cauldron he was bent over to the door, where Giles was standing with a suggestion of a grin on his face. Black eyes flickered with anger. "How the devil do you tolerate that...that...little hussy?" he burst out.

"Several years of practise, Sev," Rupert Giles closed the door of the classroom behind him with a small smile. "Am I right in assuming that she is responsible for your...ah...new coif?" Black eyes narrowed. "Ah..."

"Do you know what that...that..."

"Woman?" Giles offered, smiling.

"Dammit, man!" Snape exploded angrily. "She is no woman! She has to be a demon of some kind! Sent to torment me!" 

Giles' hand came quickly to his mouth, smothering a chuckle. "Judging by your obvious affection for the girl," Severus actually growled at him at those words, making the watcher chuckle even more. "I'm lead to assume that you were an unwilling participant in this makeover."

"You did not deign to inform me of how strong she is," Snape muttered.

"I did warn you that she was strong," Giles answered, still grinning. "Sev, she can kick a demon double her size across a graveyard. Surely you didn't think I meant she was just strong enough to remove a stubborn lid from a jar..."

"I didn't imagine she would have the nerve to carry me," the Potions Professor's voice was so low, Giles could barely hear it. "The bloody trollop carried me around like a sack of potatoes..."

Giles couldn't help it. 

He laughed.

He really laughed.

The image of Snape, who was taller than him, clad entirely in black and slung over the shoulder of the tiny, blonde and immaculately dressed Buffy Summers was just far too funny to contemplate.

"I don't find this at all amusing," Severus' cool voice cut in.

"You might not," Giles choked out, shaking his head. "But I do!"


	37. Girls Night In

The Eighth Weasley 

The Eighth Weasley - Chapter Thirty-Seven Girl's Night In

Notes: Muaha! I really love the idea of Dawn being able to stand up to Snape and that he appreciates it. Hates Summers Senior, likes Summers Junior. Its always going to be fun, no? Especially when Dawn bugs the knickers off Buffy as well. Snape'll like her even more for that added bonus ;)

As for people who wondered about the Willow-Tara-Oz relationship thing: This story began during S4. Between the time Willow learned who her family were and when she met them in Diagon Alley, nearly 8 months passed and in those months, Oz & Willow split and Tara came along, just as in season 4 of Buffy, then I took it off on my tangent. It will be elaborated on later in this ch. ;) 

Also, for those of you who don't like what I do in this chapter, tough titties. This has been planned for four months now and I'm not changing it for no one. Nope. Nothing anyone can say will change my mind! Muahah!

And (finished notes) - Bloody thing has turned out to be King Sized again (15 pages) cos of all the little threads I had to have going and keep going. There are reasons for pretty much everything that happens in this. Except perhaps what happens to poor Duncan. I'm just mean to my own little boy :) 

____________________________

"Where would she have gone?"

"Who can say?" There was a weary sigh. "All we are aware of is that she was in the Leaky Cauldron, demanding the whereabouts of her 'key'. She left half a dozen of our kind drained of sanity and vanished as suddenly as she appeared."

"Have you informed Buffy?"

Dumbledore raised his eyes to the man on the other side of his desk. "I will be informing her shortly," he answered quietly. "I am afraid that it appears that one of our own kind may be assisting this demon."

"One of..." The man's expression hardened. There was only one kind of wizard, dark or otherwise, who would assist a creature that thrived on destruction and death. "A Death Eater is involved?"

"It is possible."

Rupert Giles rubbed his face, shaking his head. "It was bad enough when it was just Glory, but to have a wizard stand against us as well...do we know of any Death Eaters who managed to avoid Azkaban?"

"There are several," Dumbledore said evasively.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that there are several," he answered.

"Also meaning that since you're not telling me, you're pretty certain you know who it must be and there's a reason you wouldn't want me to know about it," Giles said, his hands resting on his thighs. 

Dumbledore raised his brows. "You have become very perceptive, Rupert."

"I've become something of an expert at interpreting the cryptic, due to working with teenagers and the Watchers Council, Albus," Giles replied coolly. "Don't think you have the wool pulled over my eyes."

The Head Master inclined his head in a suggestion of a polite bow. "I simply would prefer that you act rationally," he said. "Instead of taking a chance to attain vengeance and finding nothing but death waiting for you."

Giles' expression tightened. "He's the one who got to Sev, isn't he?" Dumbledore said nothing. "If it is..." Blue eyes gazed evenly across the desk at him. "I will remain utterly calm and collected until I'm close enough to beat the living crap out of him."

"Would you prefer to be the one to inform Miss Summers?" Dumbledore finally asked, after several minutes of silence. "After all, you are the one she respects and are the best judge of her nature."

Giles nodded slowly. "Yes," he answered. "Yes, I think that might be best."

***

"Can I watch?"

"Miss Summers..."

Blue eyes turned up to Snape, Dawn's lip jutting out in a pout. "But I wanna see how to make the hard potions," she whined, in a voice that she knew particularly irritated him. "I wanna do it!"

Snape looked down at the little American, trying to smother a smirk.

He really rather liked the annoying little creature, despite his best efforts not to.

She had nerve, character, attitude, things so often lacking in the milksops he had to deal with on a daily basis. She also came and lurked in the dungeons when she really had no need to be there and very few people did that.

Like she had on this occasion: her sister had been called up to see the Head Master along with Rupert and the younger sister had taken the chance to escape from the room, which she was meant to stay in until her sister returned.

It was oddly touching that she came to him when she could.

No doubt, because it would annoy her sister as well, which he appreciated.

When she had first arrived at the class and managed to get past the initial fear of him, she had proved more than a match for his sarcasm and attitude, speaking back to him when all her other classmates were cowering.

Speaking of classmates, one of them was lurking at the door, apparently waiting for the Summers girl, looking suitably terrified every time Snape flashed a dark look in his direction.

"Miss Summers," he began again, sneering down at her. "I'm afraid that the class you wish to attend is called Advanced Potions for a reason and you have yet to attain the maturity, knowledge and at least one brain cell required."

"Do so have one brain cell! I'm talking to you, so I have ta have something!"

"Miss Summers," He could practically hear Summers' friend whimpering in terror at the door, as he loomed over the girl. "There is a world of difference between coherent conversation and what you so eloquently deem as 'talking'."

"Well, then, I don't need to say anything during the class, do I? I can just stand and watch you do stuff and make with the not-speaking," she challenged, giving him that irrepressible grin.

"Pardon me, but I do believe you just volunteered to remain silent in one of my classes," Snape saw her grin widen. She liked to banter with him in a way no other student could. He could be as biting and sarcastic as he liked and she would still give as good as she got, without crossing the boundary into blatant rudeness. "Are you under the imperius curse?"

She actually laughed at that and Cameron, the boy at the door, looked like he was about to faint from terror. "You wish, Professor," she replied. "I couldn't be this annoying if I was under the Imperius curse."

"Oh, I'm sure you could manage somehow, Miss Summers."

"So can I?"

"Can you what?"

She scowled darkly up at him and he damn near laughed at it. The scowl was him personified. Many people had tried to impersonate his scowl, but only this irritating yet tolerable little American had managed it.

"You know what, Professor," she glowered at him, arms folded over her chest to match his posture. "I wanna come to the Advanced Potions class and watch. I can't unless you tell Professor Dumbledore that I can. I really wanna come! Please?"

"Be still, my bleeding heart."

Dawn took a step towards him, her arms still crossed over her chest, her brows knitting as she glared up at him. "If you don't let me come," she said slowly and very deliberately. "I'll sic Spike on you."

"A defanged vampire? Oh, Miss Summers, I quiver with terror."

One corner of her mouth lifted. "You should," she replied quietly, her eyes glittering with mischief. "If I ask him to sing nine-hundred and ninety-nine million, nine-hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine-hundred and ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall to you, he would do it."

Snape was immediately hurled into a very odd visual place, wherein the blond vampire was doing just that. Why the vampire was suddenly in the costume of a 19th century dandy and armed with a lute, he didn't know.

Shaking his head, he blinked and looked down at Summers. "Miss Summers, I don't know what you aim to achieve by filling my head with absurd images, but I have said you are too young for the class."

"Aww, please! I won't touch anything! I won't say anything! You won't even know I'm there!" She struck a pose, hands folded in front of her. "See! Not moving! Not speaking! Just watching!"

"Considering your record for being unable to keep your flapping trap shut for even one potions class, I may yet have to see if this miracle might be true," he murmured, reaching into his robes and withdrawing a scroll of parchment. "This is the form of consent allowing you to join the class."

"You big jerk!" Dawn squealed, as soon as she had it in her hands. "You had it all this time and you made me ask nicely!"

Snape smirked at her. "You expected it any other way, Summers? A cauldron and some essential ingredients will be delivered to your chambers this evening, so you are adequately prepared to make a fool of yourself."

Unrolling the scroll, Dawn looked at the elaborate script on the paper, then gave a delighted squeal, as it affirmed that she was, indeed, allowed to sit in on the sixth and seventh years potions classes.

Then she did something that Professor Snape and Cameron looked equally stunned and mortified by.

She threw her arms around Snape, with an excited squeal, then darted off towards the door, leaving the off-balance Potions Master staring at her as if she had sprouted a second head.

"Ye hugged him," Snape heard Cameron gasp at her.

"He's letting me watch Potions!"

"Aye, but..." Cameron's blue eyes flicked into the room and he immediately backed out of Snape's line of sight, although his voice still reached the Potions Professor, echoing in the hall. "Ye hugged him!"

Dawn looked back into the room and grinned at Snape, who scowled darkly. "I know," she answered, as they disappeared into the Hallway, her voice ringing back to him. "I thought it would scare him."

Snape shook his head, a wry smile reaching his lips. 

She really was an annoyingly likeable little creature.

Now, if only the sister would follow her lead, as opposed to being sheerly annoying.

***

"So you planted one on her yet?"

With a shriek of surprise, Hermione spun, wand in hand, looking for the owner of the voice that had hailed her. Scrolls she had been carrying bounced across the floor and she heard a chuckle.

"Clumsy, luv, very clumsy."

It was nearly a week and a half since she had last had a run in with the owner of that particular voice and she had been hoping to avoid it a little longer, while she tried to work out what she was going to do.

Unfortunately, it looked like she didn't have much of a choice now.

Scowling, as she knelt to gather the scrolls up, she shot a glare at the vampire. "How many time do I have to tell you not to do that?"

Spike merged out of the shadows that licked the walls, smirking down at her. "You think telling me off is going to stop me, Prof? Nah. That would be too much like good behaviour for my tastes."

The last of the scrolls back in her hands, Hermione straightened up. "So what did you decide to jump out on me for?"

"You heard, luv," Much to her surprise, the vampire took all the scrolls from her and loaded them into a satchel he hand on his shoulder. "And the day you work out that bags aren't evil, there's going to be a bloody party."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I don't need a bag for carrying a handful of scrolls, Spike, and why do you care if I've...er...planted one on Willow?"

Spike grinned. "Got to get my yayas somehow, don't I?" He offered her an arm, which she took, albeit reluctantly. "So I'm right when I guess you haven't gotten any further with little Red?"

"Um..."

"Really, Prof, anyone would think you didn't fancy the knickers off her."

"I don't!" An eyebrow arched. "All right, all right, maybe I do like her..." They were walking down a hall that was near the transfiguration classrooms and Hermione was wondering just where the vampire was taking her. "Er...Spike?"

"Whatcha going to do about her?"

Distracted by the question, Hermione turned to look up at him. "Pardon?"

"Do I have to throw you and her into a room together to see the two of you get some action?" he asked, as he turned into a room, taking her with him. She didn't even look round to see where they were, glaring at him and his implication.

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione sniffed.

Blue eyes gave her a speculative look. His arm shot past her and she felt the bump of a door banging lightly against her elbow. "Well, we'll see about that," he said with a wink and giving her a casual shove backwards.

Tripping over something, Hermione uttered a yell of dismay that was echoed by another yell, as she fell into what looked like a cupboard and the door closed to the sound of Spike's laughter.

"Ow..." the witch winced, her left shoulder holding her painfully upright against the back of the cupboard, her legs askew around something soft and warm on the floor of the wooden structure.

"Pretty much ditto," another voice mumbled from somewhere near Hermione's legs.

"Willow?"

There was a rustling and someone squirmed up onto her feet, her body brushing against Hermione's, making Hermione bite her lower lip. "Hermione?" They were practically crushed chest to chest and Hermione shifted her feet.

"Let me guess," she said, her voice a little shaky. "Spike got you in here?"

"Yeah," she could hear the pout in Willow's voice. "I've been in here for a real long time already. I was starting to think he was gonna leave me in here. I'm so staking him when we get out! I'm gonna poof him good."

"Why didn't you get your wand?"

"Why haven't you got yours?" Willow challenged. Hermione's hand slid between their bodies, ignoring Willow's slim form and soft curves, and into her robes, but her wand was gone. "Spike is good at stealing from you when you least expect it."

"That rotten swine!" 

Willow giggled. "He is a jerk," she agreed, shifting again. 

Hermione's teeth caught her lip again, as one of Willow's knees brushed between her own. She could feel the warmth of the red head's breath on her face. Sweet and light, like white musk. A gasp escaped her and she tried to think outside the cupboard they were locked in. 

Apparently Willow heard the gasp, one hand coming out to touch Hermione's arm gently. "Are you okay, Hermione? You're not claustrophobic, are you, cos if you are, I'll so stake Spike!"

"Uh...no...not claustrophobic..."

Willow exhaled a sigh of relief. "Oh good! Thought you were gonna go all freaky-deaky on me and I don't have my wand to get us out." Hermione jumped when a hand touched her shoulder, then slid over to rest on the wood, bracing Willow's body close to hers. "Y'know, I'm kinda glad its you that Spike threw in. Woulda been kinda awkward if it was anyone else."

"Uh-huh..." Hermione closed her eyes.

The bastard.

The sneaky, evil, wicked, bloody marvellous bastard.

When she got out, after Willow staked him, she was going to kiss him so hard he would spontaneously combust.

The sneaky, evil, wretched, wicked, devious, cunning, tricky, wonderful, absolutely bloody marvellous bastard.

"D'you know why he chucked you in?"

Willow's hair rustled and Hermione assumed she was shaking her head. "Something about getting people started."

"Oh..."

"You know?"

"Um...Willow, do you trust me?"

"Sure! You're my best buddy of non-Scooby origin!"

"All right. Don't kill me."

Before Willow could ask anything more, Hermione leaned in and - assessing from the position of the other witch's face and the puffs of her breath - covered Willow's lips with her own in a light kiss. Willow gasped against her lips.

It was barely a brush of contact and she pulled back right away, but it was electric.

Hermione could feel the heat rising in her face. She had never kissed another girl before, let alone another witch, but something had drawn her to Willow Weasley from the first moment she had seen her. 

At least now, she could at least say that she had tried.

"Wh-what was that for?" Willow's voice was shaking.

Closing her eyes and praying that she wouldn't be hated by her friend, Hermione forced a confident tone into her voice. "Spike told me to."

"Spike told you to kiss me?" there was a wondering tone in the youngest Weasley's voice which the other witch didn't recognise. "You? He told you to kiss me? In here?"

"Well, not in here, but since I..."

A hand wove through Hermione's hair and her mouth was pulled down hard against an unseen pair of hot, moist lips, a little gasp of pleasure escaping her as Willow's other hand slid over her hip and around to rest on her back.

Oh God...

Oh GOD!

Willow was kissing her.

Willow Weasley was kissing HER, Hermione Granger, former Head Girl and the Professor of Muggle Studies at Hogwarts and oh! 

It was good.

It was really, _really_ good.

Her hands coming up to frame Willow's face, she felt a shudder of pleasure when a tongue brushed against her parted lips, the kiss rapidly deepening, the cupboard filling with a dizzying, delicious heat. 

Willow tasted of strawberries, she decided. Sweet, ripe summer strawberries.

And she couldn't get enough of it. 

Somehow, she ended up pinning Willow between her own body and the side of the cupboard, one hand spread on the wood behind the red-haired witch, the other around Willow's waist.

Her mind was too dizzy to work out why.

Although, the dizziness rapidly receded when there was a rush of cold air and light into the cupboard, the door wide open. The two witches broke apart, panting, at a loud and very shocked exclamation.

"What on earth are you doing in my cupboard?" Minerva McGonagall shrieked in surprise, whipping around to glare at Spike, who was leaning against the doorframe of the classroom, grinning from ear-to-ear. "BILLY!"

"Didn't make 'em do anything, Minnie," he drawled, blue eyes dancing. "Just gave 'em directions and locked the door."

Hermione, blushing furiously, flashed a nervous look at the equally-red Willow, who looked as bashful, then darted away, pausing only to grab her scrolls and wand from the satchel on Spike's shoulder.

"You're a git," she hissed at him.

"You're looking utterly snogged," he retorted, grinning. She glared at him once more, before fleeing the scene, hoping she could get her blushes under control before she got back to her own classroom.

***

"Whaddya call that thing?"

"Blast-ended skrewt," Hagrid replied happily. "Lovely things, they are."

The muggle boy gave the skrewt a deeply sceptical look. "Lovely thing. Right..." he remarked cynically. "You do know that those are the kinda things that come outta the Hellmouth when it opens, right?"

The Grounds keeper almost dropped the bar for sealing the skrewts' pen on his foot, beetle-black eyes widening. "Ye've seen the Hellmouth open?"

Hagrid had just been forcing one of the blast-ended skrewts back into it's large enclosure, when one of the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor's friends had approached, actually seeming interested.

Wearing numerous T-shirts and shirts, all under a thick set of robes that looked like they had been borrowed from Dumbledore, no doubt unused to the chill of impending winter that hung in the grey afternoon, the youth couldn't have looked more like a muggle if he tried.

He was dark-haired and dark-eyed and wore a genial half-smile at all times, even when he was sounding a little...distant and maybe even a little depressed as he did at this very moment.

"Only a couple of times, before everyone closed it, but yeah. Things like that are all over the place."

The half-giant looked down at the muggle boy. He knew that the group lived on the Hellmouth on the Western seaboard and had heard that they had all fought the Dark Side in some way or other. 

Even this normal-looking muggle.

Hellmouths sounded fascinating. Dangerous, but fascinating and he hadn't had the nerve to ask the tiny and very pretty blonde Professor about it.

He heard that if one of the many Hellmouths ever successfully opened fully, there was more chance of the world going to pot than there ever had been when...You-Know-Who was in power and it was really terrifying to think about.

Summers and her friends had apparently stopped it a few times and he was really very curious how and why and what they could do to make sure it didn't happen any time in the near future.

"Would...er...would yer be interested in tellin' me a bit about yer Hellmouth thing?"

The boy smiled as if it was the best thing that had happened to him, since his arrival at the school. "That'd be kinda neat," he answered, looking over his shoulder, back up to the school. "Don't have anyone to really talk to up there."

"Feelin' left out cos of magic an' all?"

The boy smiled faintly. "I guess so."

"I'm not allowed ter do magic either," Hagrid confided, dusting his hands down on his shirt. "Have ter do everything the muggle way." He nodded towards his house. "Want ter come in fer a cup o' tea? It's a bit nippy out."

The boy smiled broadly. "That would be great," he replied, following the giant towards the house. "You're Hagrid, right?"

"S'right," Hagrid beamed down at him. There was something about the muggle boy that reminded him a lot of Ron Weasley in nature, with a bit of Harry Potter thrown in for good measure. "An' you are?"

"Xander. Xander Harris," the boy replied immediately, looking up at Hagrid with undisguised interest. "And you're really half-giant?"

Hagrid chuckled, a deep booming sound. "S'right, an' all."

"This place is crazy," Xander said shaking his head. 

"Crazier than a Hellmouth?"

Brown eyes twinkled with amusement. "I don't know about that...you have met Professor Summers, right?"

Hagrid just laughed. Yes, he could see himself liking this youth, who was so very like Ron and Harry.

***

"Something tells me that it was your fault," Professor McGonagall was scowling at the blond-haired vampire across the table of the staff-room, where a pile of colourful plastic chips and cards were scattered between them.

Spike's eyebrows rose. "Just because a couple of horny witches decide to get off in your cupboard, which just happened to be locked from the outside, doesn't mean it had anything to do with me."

The pair were seated at one of the smaller tables in the furthest corner of the large staff room, ignoring the lurking, brooding figure of Snape, who was seated in front of the fire, supposedly reading.

However, at Spike's words, both of the pair snickered as they heard paper tear.

Minerva flashed a look at the back of Snape's chair, a smirk on her lips. "You are awful, Billy," she said, as she arranged the cards in her hands. "I mean, had I arrived even five minutes later, whose to say they would have even been clothed."

There was a muffled sound from the chair and Spike looked like he was having trouble keeping a straight face. 

"How was I to know that the Prof was so keen to get under Red's robes?" he demanded in a mock-innocent tone. "I mean, did you see where her hand was off to when we opened that door?"

Another incoherent little sound came from Snape's direction.

The witch was shaking with barely controlled mirth, gripping her cards so tight that her knuckles were white. "At least we know," she managed to grit out beneath an undertone of giggles. "That we have seen more of your naked form than theirs, so they still have their pride."

"Hey now! It was cold out!" Spike protested indignantly.

There was a thump of a heavy book being slammed closed and Snape was on his feet, sweeping out of the room, McGonagall bursting out laughing almost instantly, her eyes crinkling with amusement.

"My Lord, Professor Summers really has him on edge," she chuckled, shaking her head. "Normally, a conversation like that wouldn't even make him move, but we had him leave the room!"

Spike's smirk was purely filthy. "Bet he's gone to toss off with the image of my naked glory in mind."

Minerva closed her eyes. "Would rather not have received that image," she said, her face creasing in a nauseous expression. "You and nudity I can tolerate, but Severus spanking the monkey..."

Spike threw his head back and roared with laughter. "There's more chance of him and Buffy shagging than him ever getting his rocks off on seeing my arse," he laughed merrily. "That bloke is a straight as a ruler and ten times as stiff."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, he has an affinity for wearing black frocks, but he's as straight as Flitwick is bent as a hairpin."

McGonagall, who had been taking a drink of her tea, immediately sprayed it all over the table. "Billy!"

"Call it as I see it, Minnie," Spike grinned. "And I see you as a horny old bat, who should have played their card half an hour ago, instead of speculating over two little witches getting off in your cupboard. If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were..."

"Mr. T. Bloody, that is enough!" Clearing her throat, McGonagall looked down at the cards on display. 

Blue eyes glittered. "Minnie, Herm and Willow," he started to sing-song. "Sitting on a bag, having such a good time, with a threeway..."

"BILLY!" 

The vampire laughed. "Well, make your move, then luv. Move faster than a tortoise and I'll stop singing."

Green eyes narrowed, the vampire leaning forward and watching closely as she took the top one from her little pile. Turning it face up, she slapped it down on the top of the pile in the middle of the table and yelled triumphantly, "SNAP!"

***

Easing into the bedroom, Hermione felt a rush of blood to her cheeks when she saw Willow sitting in the window seat, gazing out at the grounds. They had been avoiding one another since...

The kiss.

That had been just past lunchtime and now, it was almost nine o'clock at night. It was the longest they had ever been apart, since Willow had arrived at Hogwarts and Hermione sincerely hoped it wouldn't stay that way.

"Er..."

Willow turned and looked over at her. "Hey," she said softly. Hermione could see her cheeks were scarlet as well, which made her feel a tiny bit better. "We...we aren't gonna be all awkward and stuff now, are we? I mean, cos of what happened?"

"I would rather not be awkward, although it is a little, well...awkward."

Both girls grinned a little at her choice of words, as Willow slid onto her feet and straightened up. "You got a lot of work to do tonight?" she asked, looking at the heap of scrolls in Hermione's arms.

"Uh...not really."

There was another silence, then Hermione was struck by a thought.

"I never showed you the bathroom!"

Willow looked a little bemused, her expression on of bewilderment. "Bathroom? You get this from me asking about homework?"

"You know me," Hermione laughed, hurrying across to her bed and ditching all the marked scrolls - which she had spent the last four hours in the library marking - onto her bed and reached for the fresh towels that the house elves had placed out. "You want to see one of the best bathrooms in the world?"

"You mean that we go running around the castle, see a neat bathtub in a neat bathroom, come back and do nothing?"

"No, doofus," Hermione laughed, using the nickname that had become so familiar, thanks to the little army of Americans. "We go to the bathroom, fill it, take a bath and then come back and do nothing."

"Take a bath together?"

"When you see the size of this thing, it'll make sense."

Willow worried her lower lip.

"Oh, come on, Willow! We're friends! And the incident in the cupboard," she made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "Entirely Spike's fault. We'll stake him for it later... so, are you going to come with me or not?"

Looking down at her own neatly folded towels, Willow deliberated for a moment, then nodded. "I'm in," she replied. "But we have to have lots of bubbles and you're not allowed to peek!"

"Nothing I haven't seen before, Weasley."

"Hey!"

Hermione grinned. "What? Like you were always shy and hiding it, little Miss I-wander-around-the-bedroom-in-my-knickers-and-bra-when-I-think-the-innocent-Miss-Granger-is-asleep!" Willow made an anguished squeaking noise in her throat, her face flaming. "Oh, don't worry," Hermione added airily. "From what I've seen, you've got nothing to be ashamed of."

"Hermione!"

The brown-haired witch chuckled. "Prude."

***

"What on earth are you doing?"

Dawn looked up from the small cauldron that was balanced just on the inside of the toilet bowl. "Like, duh," she said, rolling her eyes expressively at the boy standing over her. "Since there's a cauldron in my toilet and its bubbling and stuff, I'm obviously peeing."

"Dawnie..."

"What are you doing in a girls toilet?"

In fact, it wasn't just any girls' toilet. It was the toilet that was made famous by the fact that it lead down into the Chamber of Secrets and apparently, it was still as unused by pupils nearly ten years on.

There was a dank smell that seemed to hang around most public toilets, although there was less of the bitter acidic smell of muggle cleaning agents. No doubt, Filch used something else.

Even so, there was still a damp and cold atmosphere around the toilets, which the Scottish boy didn't particularly like. He was an extremely superstitious person and this place was giving him an unnerving feeling.

He stood over his friend, who was wearing muggle clothes under her thick robes, an invisibility cloak spilling on the floor behind her.

"Well, Scot-boy? You, girls toilet, after I told you not to follow me?"

Duncan Cameron went beetroot. "I saw ye sneakin' out and figured ye might get intae trouble, so I came tae make sure ye dinnae get caught or anythin'. I had tae see what you were doin'."

"That's so sweet," Dawn grinned at him, then turned her attention back to the potion that was bubbling in the cauldron. "Anyway, I won't get in trouble. Hermione knows I'm down here. She gave me the water-proof fire."

"Professor Granger?"

Dawn nodded, carefully stirring the thick, dark, murky concoction once clockwise, twice anti-clockwise with a long, thin ladle. "She knows I'm not allowed to practise potions in the tower or away from the potions class or anywhere that people'll see, so she said I should come here."

"Does yer sister know yer here?"

Dawn shook her head, raising a test tube of grey fluid, expertly measured. "She went off into the Dark Forest to get back into shape for Dark Arty stuff with Giles," she answered, adding the fluid to her potion. "So she's not gonna be back until way late, so I'm working here. I woulda done it in the room, but ew! Potions make the room stinky and she would be pissed if she knew."

"Because yer not meant to play with potions outside of class!"

Dawn gave him a look. "And you don't do charms outside of class?" she said.

"Does Snape know?"

"That I'm practising? Probably, but even if he didn't, I'm gonna do it anyway. He gave me the cauldron and ingredients. What am I meant to do with them? Wait until class every week? Nah!"

"You could get in big trouble, Dawnie..."

Dawn smirked. "I'm not the one with a ghost behind me," she replied cheerfully, leaning sideways to look beyond him. "Hey Myrtle!"

"Why are you so happy?" Cameron whipped around at the gloomy voice, to find a sulky-looking girl with a pudgy face and thick glasses staring owlishly at him. "And why have you brought a boy," The way she said the word made him wonder if being a boy was a bad thing. "With you?"

"Oh, he followed me," Dawn replied, grinning up at Duncan, who had gone very pale. He was very nervous around ghosts, because of all the legends in his family, which had spooked him since childhood. "You can bug him if you wanna. He thinks ghosts are hotties."

"Dawnie..."

Myrtle's pearly eyes lit up. "Oooh! You like ghosts?" Sidling up to him, she batted transparent eyelashes. "So, do you like my toilet?"

Dawn snickered over her potion as Duncan tried to babble his way out of the conversation, muttering just loud enough for him to hear, "I told you not to follow me if I went sneaking out."

***

"This is so neat!"

Swimming to the edge of the bath, Hermione shook her hair back out of her eyes and looked across the bath to Willow, who was hanging into one of the gold taps and capturing the bubbles pouring out of it in her hand, then blowing them into the air.

"You are such a child sometimes, Weasley," she chuckled.

Willow pulled a face, then moved onto the next tap, from which a jet of rainbow-coloured water sprayed, making her squeal. "Oh God! Cold!" she squeaked wildly trying to turn the tap off.

Hermione couldn't help laughing.

The red-haired witch was infatuated with the huge bathroom and Hermione didn't blame her in the least. It was perfect and beautiful.

It looked like the whole room had been plucked out of Ancient Rome and placed in the school, the bath sunk in the middle of the floor, four steps leading down from the main floor and to the bath. 

The bath was the size of an average muggle swimming pool, deep and made of pure white marble. Along three of the four sides, there were dozens of golden taps, each of which issued different bubbles or colours of water or bath mists.

The fourth wall had one flight of marble steps to get in and out of the bath at one side, while - along the end, there were smooth dips in the stone that could serve as a place to sit and enjoy the bath, if one didn't feel like swimming about.

Columns lined the walls of the room, towering and white, trimmed with gold leaf and soft, white light seemed to glow softly through half a dozen white alabaster disks in the ceiling that was painted in the colour of a summer sky.

It had taken a little more convincing to get Willow into the bathroom, once they reached the door of the room, but as soon as she saw the room, she was more than willing to plunge straight into the tub.

Splashing her way up to the end of the bath with the grooves in the wall, Willow slid into the seat of smoothed marble with a sigh, leaning back against the water-warmed wall, crisp white foam covering her modesty.

Hermione lazily swam back towards her and slid into the seat next to her, pushing her hair back from her face with one hand. 

"Nice, isn't it?"

"Mmm," Willow replied, her eyes closed.

Hermione nibbled on her lower lip, then carefully asked. "Willow, can I ask you something rather...personal?"

"Sure."

"You don't need to answer."

Willow half-opened her eyes. "I won't if I don't wanna," she replied. "Ask whatever you like."

"Who was Tara?" Green eyes flicked to her. "Spike mentioned her," Hermione said apologetically. "I was a little curious."

Willow's eyes closed again. "She was my girlfriend for a while, when Oz was in Tibet the first time," she replied quietly. "My first and only girlfriend. Then Oz came back and I...I had to choose between them...Oz...he was hurt by scientist guys...I loved him too much to see him hurt...I chose him."

"What happened to Tara?"

Willow sighed. "She...she said we could stay friends, but we kinda lost touch with me coming here and school and everything..." She sighed again. "And before you ask, I did love her, but Oz...I loved him that little bit more."

"Is she the first girl you...you were romantically interested in?"

"Mmm."

"Why?"

Willow raised her shoulders a little. "I don't know, but there was something in her that I felt close to. Like there was in Oz," she replied, opening her eyes and staring up at the ceiling. "It didn't matter whether they were male or female, just as long as we did have that...closeness. That connection. That kind of love."

"Sounds wonderful," Hermione murmured, gazing at the red head's profile.

"It is," Willow whispered softly, barely audible over the soft lapping of the water around them, her eyes closing again. "To be able to love someone so completely, to trust them with everything and anything, to know what they feel from a touch, from a look. I had it twice and now..."

"You're alone again?" Hermione put in as Willow trailed off, the red-haired witch nodding silently. "Willow, I've only had two boyfriends and only one of them was ever one of my two lovers. I've never...been loved to extent that you have."

"Not even with Ron?"

A bittersweet smile crossed the older witch's face. "That was a close one, but there were too many differences. I loved him more than anything. I thought we could get over or break through the barriers that separated us, but it was too much. They forced us apart a little at a time. We try to stay friends, but there's too much between us for it to ever be like it once was."

"And there were others?"

"Viktor Krum, a famous Quidditch player," Hermione laughed hollowly at the memory. "We saw each other briefly, but we split on rather bad terms, which was when Ron and I started seeing each other. I had a lover from the Ministry, briefly, but we only ever saw one another over the summers after I finished school. It wasn't love, nowhere near close to it. It was scratching an itch."

"Bet you never had a demon computer after you, though," Willow flashed her a half-smile. "Or a vampire version of yourself licking your neck and asking if you wanted to snuggle with yourself."

Hermione blinked. "Um...no...can't say I ever had that happen."

"Gotta say that it definitely wasn't of the fun," Sitting up a little in the sloping seat, Willow winced, one hand coming to her neck. "Ow..."

Before she could move to crick her neck, another body had slid over the low arm of her 'seat' and behind her body. Warm thighs framed hers in a 'v' and gentle hands coming up to her neck.

"Hermione!"

"I did a course on massage therapy," Hermione explained, rubbing her thumbs up the back of Willow's neck. "Don't be so worried that I'm going to tackle you and do indecent things to you."

Willow made a little squeaking noise, then cleared her throat. "Y-you did kiss me in the cupboard earlier."

"And, if I remember right, you kissed me back," Hermione murmured, massaging the nape of Willow's neck, the red-haired witch relaxing gradually against her. "I'm not the forceful type."

"Do...do you like girls that...that way?" there was an odd tone in Willow's voice, an almost nervous sound.

"I honestly don't know, Willow," she replied with a sigh. "I mean, I've only had two blokes as lovers, but there have been a few women I've seen that just make me stop and stare. Not many men do that for me."

"Know the feeling," Willow sighed, leaning back a little. "You're real good at that, you know."

"Mmm."

Drawing back to lean against the marble, Hermione smiled indulgently as Willow moved back to stay in contact with her, her hands kneading their way down to the youngest Weasley's creamy shoulders.

They were silent for a long time, just sitting where they were, Willow's soft sounds of contentment and the murmur of the water against the sides of the tub the only noises in the peaceful room.

The water stayed hot and the bubbles were starting to dissipate when Hermione's hands finally stilled on Willow's shoulders. Willow was surprised to notice that they were shaking and tilted her head. 

"Hermione?"

The reply came in a pleading whisper. "Can I kiss you again?"

Green eyes met brown, damp locks of hair plastered to rosy faces. Unable to refuse, her back pressing back against Hermione's chest, Willow nodded, her eyes closing in pleasure as Hermione's lips met hers again.

One of Hermione's hands slid up Willow's slim throat to cradle her flushed cheek, the other sliding down and around Willow's body to draw her securely back against her own body. 

Beneath the water, Willow's hands skittered about for something to hold, grasping at the other witch's thigh, which made Hermione squeak in surprise.

Breaking apart, they stared at each other, then laughed.

"Cute sound effect," the red head noted, averting her eyes and going a furious shade of crimson, when she realised just where Hermione's right hand was resting, right under one of her breasts.

The older witch brushed strands of damp red hair back from Willow's cheek. 

"I've made better," she replied, the impish twinkle that Willow had come to know so well glinting in her brown eyes. "Unless..." A flicker of nervousness crossed her face. "Unless you want to just go back to the room and get some sleep."

This time, it was Willow who initiated the kiss, their lips brushing lightly together as the red-haired witch shifted in the brown-haired woman's arms, her dripping hands rising to weave through Hermione's hair.

Despite the steamy haze hovering on the surface of the hot water, the whole room seemed to get several degrees hotter as they pressed back against the edge of the tub, soft sounds of pleasure slipping from Hermione's throat.

"Call me mad," she gasped, when they broke apart again, her brown eyes shining with emotion. "But I do think I've gone and done the crazy and fallen in love with you, Willow Weasley."

"Call me even weirder," Willow replied breathlessly, half-sitting, half-kneeling, her legs tangled around Hermione's. "But I think I might be on the way to feeling the same. You...you and me...we..." she trailed off into another brief kiss. "Tingles! Cos I only ever got smoochies that gave me the tingles with Oz and Tara..."

"Tingles?" Hermione grinned at her. "I gave you tingles?"

Willow's green eyes hooded. "Mmm," she replied huskily, one hand spreading on the other witch's collarbone. "Big time." They shared another kiss, parting with a light sigh. "You?"

"Would it be considered a compliment if I said that you're the first woman that I've ever wanted to make love to?" Willow bit on her lower lip and she buried her face in Hermione's neck. "Was...is that bad?"

Willow shook her head. "No...not at all. It sounds...perfect," she whispered, then giggled, her head resting on Hermione's shoulder. "I...I just had a thought, though. You know whose gonna really freak out if...if we start dating..." 

"If? You believe there's an 'if' involved? Unless you don't want..." 

"Oh, I want!" Another steamy kiss assured the older witch of this. "But Ron...Ron is going to freak."

Hermione started to laugh. "Oh God...I never thought of that...oh no!" Willow was laughing as well, her hand pressed to her mouth, her eyes dancing with mirth. "Poor Ron! Jilted for his baby sister..."

"Well, we better get with making him have a reason for being embarrassed," Willow said, when she finally got control of her mirth, her expression sobering a little. She gazed at Hermione. "You really...like me?"

"No, Will, I don't," she said seriously. "I love you. Have done for months."

"S-since when?"

Hermione's lips lifted a little, brushing loose tendrils of damp-curled hair back from Willow's brow. "Back at the Burrow, when you and I were working together. When you could be so focussed, so intense, about something you were interested in or cared about. I...I wondered what it would be like to have it directed at me."

"And the red hair?"

A lop-sided grin crossed the Professor's face. "Well, I do have a weakness for it, yes, but you..." Her fingertips trailed down Willow's cheek in a light caress. "You brought so much wisdom, so much simple knowledge with you. You had a pure goodness and openness that I've seen in no one before."

"Openness?" Willow echoed, as Hermione's hand beneath the water started to move.

"Mmm," Hermione murmured into another kiss.

As the kiss moved down her cheek and jaw, lips brushing her neck, Willow could absently recall asking, "Are we allowed to do this in a bathroom?" and by the time she worded it, it no longer seemed to matter if it was allowed or not.


	38. Fair Darkness

FAIR DARKNESS

Notes: I didn't intend to writing this so quickly, but eesh! I had just finished 37 and crawled into bed, when the muse struck at 4am. Hopefully I'll remember half the crazy ideas I had for this chapter *crosses fingers*

End of chapter notes - oh MAN! Another biggie! (I did try to keep it under 15 pages, honestly!) I like this chapter :D The 'Run and catch' scene especially. And of course, any which feature my favourite blond bombshell. *twitches* This is getting absurd. 27+ pages of fic since I logged off the internety computers last night. Yeesh.

_________________________________

"Hey, cupcake. You must be Luce's little boy."

Draco Malfoy stared mutely at the gorgeous blond sprawled on the couch in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor. She was stunning, in a red dress that looked like she had been poured into it. "And who might you be?"

He had entered the room to find blue-green eyes studying him with amusement, the woman lazing in a patch of cold wintery moonlight that spilled in through one of the tall windows in the wall.

He had never seen her before in his life, but suspected that she was about to become a significant feature.

"Friend of the family, baby," the woman smiled.

The brilliant smile reminded Draco strongly of his father. It was viewed as a genuine and almost friendly smile, but it had the underlying threat and controlled danger of a calculating and calm psychopath.

"And does this friend of the family have a name?" he asked, an air of disdain in his voice to hide the curiosity.

This wasn't just one of father's fancy girls.

He could tell that much by looking at her.

There was the same air about her that his father held. She looked casual, beautiful and warm, but the minute he met her eyes, he knew there was something beyond it, a pure, untamed animal rattling inside a cage, awaiting release.

"Call me Glory, baby," she replied, cocking her head coquettishly at him, her curly hair tumbling around her shoulders.

Draco slowly nodded, allowing his lips to lift in a smirk. "Glory," he murmured. "I believe you mentioned my father's name. You are a...friend of his?"

"Percepto-boy, huh?" the woman laughed. It was, on the surface, a pleasant sound, but there was a chilling darkness in it that made the younger Malfoy shudder. It was a laugh like his father's when he had just killed. "Yeah, I'm a friend of your daddy's."

"And mother?"

Glory smirked at him. "Hey, I'm all up for a threeway if your momma is half as good-lookin' as your daddy," her eyes skimmed over him speculatively and Draco felt like he had been stripped naked and dipped in honey or something equally lickable from the way she was leering at him, colour instantly blotching his cheeks. "And if daddy doesn't mind goin' halfs with his cutie-patootie little boy..."

"Embarrassing my son already?" Lucius Malfoy's broke the awkward silence that had sprung up in the wake of her lewd suggestion and Draco and Glory both looked towards the door.

"Hey, sugar," Glory grinned broadly, as Lucius crossed the floor and rounded the couch to sit at the opposite end from her. "You didn't tell me the boy had your looks."

"All with good reason, Glory," Lucius replied, a genuinely amused smirk on his lips as he surveyed his son. Draco shifted uncomfortably, pulling his robes in front of his body. "And my son apparently...appreciates the sentiment."

Draco scowled at his father. "Father, does mother know...?"

"Of course she does, my boy. There has never been a woman in this house whom Narcissa was not aware of," Lucius waved his hand imperiously. "Now, leave. Glory and I have a great deal to discuss."

Draco, teeth gritted together, nodded and turned to walk out. As he closed the doors of the room behind him, he saw his father pulling the gorgeous blonde towards him, their lips meeting in a savage kiss.

Just once, he mused, he had hoped father would respect mother.

Obviously, it was hoping for too much.

***

"Well done. That was a great improvement."

Buffy lowered the quarterstaff, pressing the tip against the ground and leaning on it, a dubious look on her face. "I dunno, Giles," she said, raising a hand to push her hair back from her face. "I...I'm losing my edge."

"Nonsense," her watcher said briskly. "You are a little out of practise, but you have had quite a few other considerations to take up your time, being such a good teacher for one thing. You simply need to re-establish a rhythm and get back into training."

The pair of them were in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, after hours, so Buffy could practise her Slayer skills and Giles had cleared the floor of desks with a wave of his wand.

They had sparred with quarterstaffs, fought with some of the selection of swords that Giles had been able to find around the school, used some of the furniture as a kind of obstacle course, but the Slayer still wasn't satisfied.

"Maybe I should let you do the teaching thing, so I can get back into things," she said distractedly, batting away a knife that Giles had hurled at her head, still leaning on the staff. "Or maybe I can cut back on hours," Another knife was swatted aside.

"Don't be ridiculous, Buffy," Giles answered, hurling the last knife.

Buffy caught it an inch from her head, by the blade. "You're saying I could go one-on-one with Glory?" she asked, then seemed to realise that she had managed to avoid all the knives. "Uh, Giles, when did you get with the throwing?"

"Some time between the moment when you were complaining about your lack of skill and wallowing in self-pity," her watcher replied with an amused chuckle. "You deflected four and caught one, without even being aware of it. I would say your skills are only growing, despite your misgivings."

Tossing the knife in her hand, she grinned wryly. "I guess I'm just feeling kinda outta the loop since I don't have to slay every night," she admitted, whirling as the door opened and launching the knife, a blush rising in her cheeks as the Head Master looked from the blade which was shivering in the wood, six inches from his head, then back to the Slayer. "Um..."

"Most impressive, Professor Summers," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. "I'm sure you sent that as a warning."

"Actually," she replied, aware of the teasing twinkle in his eyes. "I missed."

He smiled slightly, looking around the classroom. "I had Argus report to me that there was some kind of disturbance in this room," he remarked conversationally. "I thought I ought to come down and make certain that no damage was being done."

"Don't you trust us, Head Master?" Buffy feigned shock.

"Are Minerva and William in negotiations to take over the world?"

Hazel and green eyes blinked at the Head Master, who chuckled to himself and toyed with the end of his beard.

"Spike and McGonagall joining forces to take over the world..." Giles muttered to himself, shaking his head violently to dislodge the very disturbing mental image he had apparently been granted. "Dear God..."

Dumbledore hummed to himself cheerfully, as Buffy straightened up and handed her quarter staff back to Giles. "I do believe that William requested permission to keep London and Canada. Very odd young man..."

"Spike as very odd. There's an understatement if I ever heard one," Buffy muttered with a shake of her head. Returning her attention to the Head Master, she asked. "Is there any word on Glory?"

"I am afraid not, Professor Summers, but I did hope I would find you here for a reason, you see," Hazel eyes met blue in question. "From what I witnessed, you feel you are unprepared for what lies ahead, do you not?"

"I guess, a little."

"Ahem?" Giles coughed.

"Okay, a lot. I don't feel like I'm up to it anymore."

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "That is a rather unfortunate position to be in, especially considering your duty," he agreed, a mild tone in his voice. "So I would like to propose a solution for you."

Shooting a glance at Giles, Buffy nodded. "Go on."

"The other members of staff and I will be able to provide you with a challenging training ground, so you may rebuild your confidence in your abilities. It will provide you with illusions of the creatures you battle and an element of the real that hand-to-hand training with a human would not provide. It may take a few days to arrange the charms and spells, but if you would like, we will provide it."

"You...you can do that?"

He sniffed primly. "Professor Summers, I am the Head Master," he answered. "I can do anything I like."

Buffy looked at her Watcher, jerking her thumb in Dumbledore's direction. "And this guy is the guy you look up to as the safest and most responsible guy in the world, Giles? What are you? Crazy?"

Dumbledore and Giles just laughed.

***

Leaning forward on the edge of the table, Spike watched carefully as Professor Hermione Granger and Willow Weasley entered the Great Hall, both young women laughing as they made their way down towards the tables for breakfast.

They weren't even touching one another, but there was a visible glow around them, their smiles as bright as the morning sunlight slanting in through the high windows and playing across the clear blue sky of the ceiling.

The corner of his lips lifted as they reached the Sunnydale table, their fingertips brushing briefly before Hermione hurried up to the staff table, Willow's eyes hanging on the other witch as she slid into the seat opposite the vampire.

"Sooooooo..."

Jerking her attention from Hermione, Willow blushed as she looked across at the only other occupant of the table, the vampire smirking at her. "So what?" she asked, snatching some toast from the plate that had just appeared in front of her.

His elbow propped on the table, his chin cupped in his hand, Spike gave her a slow, lazy grin. "So, did you have a good night then, Red?"

Willow went red from her toes to the tips of her ears, her vain attempt to smother a smile in vain and she hastily ducked her head over her toast, keeping her eyes down as Xander and Anya approached.

"Hey, Will...and you," Xander sat down beside the red head, while Anya hurried around the table and dropped down next to Spike with a broad smile. It really did look like they were...up to something.

"How goes, Wanker?"

The muggle scowled at the vampire. "Don't make me want to stake you anymore than you have to, Fangless," he replied. "And, just so you know, it goes good. Hagrid says he's gonna take me to see his giant spider buddy."

"Ah, the thrilling lives we all lead," Spike heaved a sigh, then turned his attention back to Willow, eyes glinting with mischief. "So, Red, what did you get up to last night? Or down to? Or dare I say...into?"

"Spike!"

Anya stared at the witch. "Omigod! Willow has a new orgasm friend!"

Every first year at the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables turned to stare, Anya's voice ringing out as loudly as ever. The whispers rapidly spread up the tables like wildfire and Willow moaned miserably, burying her face in her arms. "Anya!"

"Willow?" Xander stared at her as well. "You..."

Willow groaned. "Does everyone have to know already?"

"Who is it?" her friend asked.

Green eyes rose. "Not telling yet," she mumbled. "We did kinda want it to be a bit of a secret until we were ready." Xander nodded in acceptance, giving her a smile that she knew meant he was relieved and happy for her.

On the other side of the vampire gave the former Vengeance demon a broad grin, which she returned with a scowl. "Told you so, demon-girl," he said, opening a hand, palm-up, in front of her. "Now, cough up."

"Wait a second!" Willow squeaked. "You were making bets on me getting together with someone?"

Spike turned innocent blue eyes to her. "Now, luv, why on earth would you think that?" he said, looking completely helpless. "Just because I locked the pair of you in a cupboard doesn't mean I was trying to win anything."

A handful of galleons were slapped into his palm. "You cheated," Anya grumbled.

Pocketing his winnings, Spike snickered at the looks on both the witch and the ex-demon's faces. "And you're surprised and horrified by this?" he said. "What do I have to do to remind you that I'm evil?"

"Real evil," Xander smirked at him. "A real evil-matchmaker."

Much to the surprise of the other three at the table, Spike leaned back, grinning at them. "And I'm bloody good at it as well," he said, before swinging out onto his feet and leaving the hall.

***

Sprawled in Lucius Malfoy's enormous bed, Glory lazily surveyed the human beside her, her eyes wandering over his body with undisguised interest, as he gazed at her through half-closed lids.

Not exactly old, he was in middle-age, and he had obviously worked hard to keep himself in good shape, his body lean, although not exactly muscular, his skin a whiter shade of pale than any human's she had seen before.

Something told her that he wouldn't tan, but she kinda liked it that way.

His lean, pointed face was just as pale, his eyes silver-grey like a pale storm cloud, just as a storm is about to break, although she had seem them darken to the deep hue of a thunderhead with building emotions. 

His long, blond hair was his greatest luxury, she could tell, spreading around him like strands of silk.

Kneeling up on the bed, she let her eyes drift over his limbs, memorising each of them, a crease wrinkling her brow as she spotted a potential flaw in the human who had become her consort.

A mark on his left forearm.

A dark smudge against the pale skin.

Reaching for his arm, she leaned close to look at it, his right hand behind his head, as he watched her with lazy amusement.

"Luce, baby, what's this?" she asked, gazing at the snake protruding from the mouth of a skull.

"The mark of my previous Master," he replied without a hint of embarrassment. She didn't touch it yet, because sometimes, dark marks did have a tendency of biting the toucher on the ass. "You like?"

Glory wasn't certain. 

She could feel the unnatural prickle when her hand nearly touched the mark and was kind of curious. 

"Looks kinda wigsome," she replied.

"It's harmless," Lucius said, leaning back against the pillows. "The one who marked me is long gone now and that's all that is left of him."

Glory looked at the mark again.

In that case, maybe it wouldn't matter if she touched it...

***

_Run and catch, run and catch, the lamb is caught in the blackberry patch..._

Buffy eased out of her four-poster bed, startled to realise that she must have slept in her clothes, her body clad in a creased cream shirt and dark blue trousers. Rubbing her eyes, she looked towards her sister's bed, which was empty.

"Dawnie?"

"You better go," a voice said from the wall and she turned to the mirror, staring at her reflection. "Always counting down from seven-three-oh. Almost time for the door to be opened, big sister."

The Slayer blinked as her reflection swam into that of her sister Slayer. "F-Faith?"

"No rest for the wicked, B," Faith's hand rose and spread on the inside of the glass and Buffy raised her own hand to touch it. She could feel the heat of Faith's palm through the glass and gasped as their fingers interlocked. Faith gave her a sad smile through the mirror. "Gotta fight the good fight while you can. Wish I could be there to help, big sister. You know I'd be there running if I could be."

Staring at their joined fingers, Buffy lifted her face to the mirror to find her own reflection staring back at her. Her fingers were spread on the glass again and she shivered, withdrawing her hand.

"Buffy," Looking at the reflection of the room, she saw Dawn standing in the image of the doorway. "It's coming."

Turning, the Slayer squinted in the sunlight, her sister no longer in sight. "Dawnie, where are you?" she called, hurrying towards the door. The hall was flooded with light, but it felt like she was bogged down in time as she tried to run.

The bright, warm light dimmed and waned, until the hall was flooded with pale, bluish moonlight and she finally reached the corridor, which opened out onto the Entrance Hall of the school.

_Run and catch..._

Descending the staircase, Buffy felt a shiver of unease, convinced that someone was moving around near her, but she could see no one. The Hall was dark and deserted, lit only by the light of the moon.

"Hey, baby," a voice purred from directly behind her and she spun around as soon as her feet touched the floor of the hall. Glory stood behind her, wearing a deep blue tracksuit, leaning against the marble banister, smiling.

_Run and catch..._

Buffy looked around. "What's going on?"

"Tick tock, tick tock, Slayer," the Goddess replied. "Strike on seven three oh and the world falls down."

Buffy raised her eyes ceilingwards. "Always with the cryptic," she berated her subconscious. "Why can't you ever just give me a book of evil plans and a post-it that says 'This is what's happening. Deal with it'?"

"Got to choose what to do, Slayer," another voice replied and she turned to find a young man, whom she vaguely recognised, standing where Glory had been, wearing the same clothing, gazing at her. "Got to know who to trust and who to fear."

Who was he?

Brown hair, nice eyes, nice smile...

"Ben?" The orderly from the hospital in Sunnydale was showing up in her freaky dreams? Oh, this was definitely not of the good. "What are you doing here?"

"Same as everyone, Slayer," he replied. "Remember where to place your trust." He nodded beyond her and she turned to see groups of people milling into the hall, some face familiar, others not.

"So you're my guide?"

"Never said that, Slayer," Ben replied. 

"And can I trust anything you say?"

There was a lop-sided grin on the man's face. "Never said that either. Looks like you're catching on to the game." 

Moving out into the hall, Buffy's eyes wandered the faces and she noticed a long, silver line of moonlight seemed to be bisecting the hall into two quadrants, the people moving and facing each other across the line.

_The lamb..._

A tall blond man caught her attention and he was opposite...Snapey?

She approached them both, watching as - in sync - they both undid the cuffs of their left sleeves and started to peel back the sleeves from their arms. She found herself shivering with unease as the fabric was rolled back.

"You gotta know, sweetie," Glory's voice returned. "Gotta know who to trust."

_Is caught..._

Both men extended their left arms into the moonlight and Buffy gasped in horror at the sight of matching dark symbols burned into the pale skin of the arms of both of the men in front of her.

_In the blackberry patch..._

Her heart slammed against her chest.

"But he..."

"Gotta know, baby."

"Face it, Slayer," Spike's voice reached her from further down the line. "You can never tell who you are, until you're tested."

Shaking, Buffy stared at the vampire. He was several people down from Snapey and the people between them, she knew she should recognise. A tall, black-haired man with blue eyes, a slighter, more fragile-looking man with pale eyes, an aged man with nearly white eyes. 

"Your words, Spike?"

The vampire's lips lifted. "Borrowed words, luv, but the meaning is the same."

"All a matter of trust," the pale-eyed man murmured, gazing straight at her. "Have to find out where trust lies and where it can be placed. Do you trust the ones who come out of the dark enough?"

"Who are you?"

Lips arched up in a smile. "One of dark in the moonlight," the reply came. "Do you know, Summers?"

"Know what?"

"Where to trust, doofus," Dawn's voice spoke from beside her, the brunette teenager grinning when Buffy turned to her. She was standing next to Snapey, practically holding his arm. "What? Like you were listening to anything anyone said."

"Dawnie, get away from him."

"You don't get it, do you?" Dawn sighed.

"People change, Slayer," Spike agreed.

"From dark to light, singing and dancing in the moonlight," a shadowy figure, facing Spike, breathed in a hushed tone. "Like the man of books, bearing a mark that can't be washed off with soap nor sugar candy."

"Giles," Buffy looked from one face to the other, then back at Snape. "You're saying that he..."

"Gotta know, Slayer," Glory repeated. She was standing by the blond-haired man, a smile on her lips. Her hand was hovering over the dark tattoo on his arm. Buffy could feel a throbbing pain in the scar on her neck. "Gotta work it out."

_Run and catch, run and catch..._

She reached out to stop the Goddess touching the brand.

_ The lamb is caught..._

Glory's hand sealed over the mark on the blond man's arm and Buffy heard the screams begin, whipping around to see Snapey on his knees on the floor, as the whole world around her rapidly faded to black.

_In the blackberry patch._

***

Marking fifth year scrolls in the privacy of his chambers, Severus Snape was studiously avoiding the Great Hall, breakfast or anything that vaguely involved seeing Summers in any way, shape or form.

Pausing, he rubbed at his left arm again.

The fleshy part of his forearm. The sign of his greatest mistake remained there, never to disappear, a constant reminder of his folly and impetuous nature as a youth.

It had been twinging all morning, a little distracting and disconcerting.

And the most absurd thing was that he was actually convinced that, at any moment, he would be summoned to his Dark Master. The Dark Master who had been defeated three years earlier.

It was impossible.

Returning his attention to his scrolls, he rose from the desk to get a fresh bottle of ink from the shelves to his left.

And that was when the pain hit, smashing him to the stone floor like a massive fist.

***

"Professor Dumbledore!"

Everyone looked around in surprise at the shout of the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, as she sprinted down the length of the Great Hall, her hair unbrushed and her clothing creased.

Rising, Dumbledore's face revealed nothing, but those closest to him could see the concern in his eyes.

"Professor Summers?"

Panting as she skidded to a halt at the High Table, she clutched her chest, drawing huge gulps of breath. "I-I need to get the password to Snapey's room," she gasped, her face flushed, looking as if she had just run laps of the castle to reach them. 

"Severus' room?"

Nodding, she swallowed down more air. "I had a dream..." Giles was on his feet at the end of the table, immediately hurrying closer and she lowered her voice. "A whole lot of people were in it...Snapey...Glory was in it...touched a mark on some guy's arm and I heard screaming...Snapey was on the ground..."

"A mark?" Giles' hand convulsively jerked to his right elbow.

"Super-wiggy mark right here," Buffy confirmed breathlessly, pointing to her left forearm. "Looked like a black snakey kinda thing with a skull on it."

Dumbledore's blue eyes widened and he motioned for both of them to follow him, hurrying towards the side door of the Great Hall, Buffy ignoring bemused stares from her friends as she followed them.

"What else happened in this dream?"

Buffy, flanking one side of the Head Master, immediately filled in the details of the dream and the repeated questioning of whom to trust. "I wanna know something," she said carefully. "Snapey is a good guy, right?"

"Absolutely," Giles nodded in affirmation.

"He may have had flaws in the past, Professor Summers," Dumbledore said quietly, as they hurried down the long halls and darkening staircases of the castle, towards the dungeons. "But like your Giles, he has fought long and hard to overcome them."

They reached the painting that lead into the Potions Professor's chamber and the Head Master knocked on the frame. "Severus?" he called, his voice louder and more powerful than Buffy had heard it before.

No response came from within the room.

Laying his hand on the painting, Dumbledore muttered rapidly under his breath, his eyes closed and brow writ with concern.

"The doorway has sealed itself tight. I will have to trigger the release mechanism that Severus left with me from my office," he said, pulling away from the painting and looking at them both. "Giles, I do believe that Buffy is right about Severus, so I would suggest you go to Poppy and have her ready the infirmary," Nodding, Giles hurried away. "Buffy, remain here. When the painting opens, see what you can do. If he is unconscious, get him to the medical wing immediately."

Nodding, Buffy shivered as soon as the Head Master was out of sight, wrapping her arms around herself. She hadn't even taken the time to grab a sweater and the halls and dungeons weren't exactly known for being warm.

Pacing back and forth, she waited anxiously for the trigger to work. It seemed like an eternity before the painting made a soft clicking around and swung open.

The lights of the dim little room were cast across the figure of the usually tall and imposing potions Master, shivering in a ball on the floor, his body shuddering with violent convulsions. 

"Snapey," Buffy was on her knees by his side in a heartbeat, gently shifting him into a semi-sitting position. "Can you hear me?"

"In pain...not deaf...woman..." he gritted out, his teeth clattering together. 

"And there's the moody prick that we all know so well," she replied, her arm behind his shoulders, holding him up.

His face was whiter than usual, his whole body utterly rigid. His eyes were streaming with tears, although the Slayer got the feeling that he wasn't crying. They were just tears and they signified how much pain he was in.

"Want me to take you to the medical wing?"

His teeth grit together, he jerkily shook his head. "Not now...need..." She followed his line of sight to the numerous bottles that neatly lined the shelves on the wall. "The pale blue... red label..."

Laying him down, Buffy nodded, scrambling up to find the bottle and returning to his side. "Now what?"

Even in spite of the pain, he gave her a condescending look. "Open it," he replied hoarsely. His body was still shaking violently, his right hand convulsively squeezing on his shuddering left forearm.

"Ew! It stinks!"

There was a peculiar glint in his eyes. "You're not...drinking it..." he replied, raising a hand to take the bottle, but his rigid fingers made it impossible to grip. A look of angry humiliation crossed his face. "Dammit..."

"No biggie," Buffy steadied his shoulders again. "How much do you need?"

"All of it," he replied, his jaw clenched.

"So open up and I'll help you."

"Help...me?"

Buffy had to smile. "Would you stop being stubborn and let me give you your weird-ass medicine already?" Snape scowled at her, but reluctantly let her trickle the pale fluid into his mouth. "Now, do I gotta burp you?"

"Summers," he growled.

"See," she grinned at him. "You're feeling better already. Now, I have to take you to Madam Pomfrey, or else Giles'll have run all the way across the school for no reason and he would be cranky."

Snape looked like he was about to protest, but she gave him a look and hooked her arms under his body, lifting him up as easily as she might lift a toddler.

"This looks absurd," he muttered darkly, hoping in vain that no one would see him in this most undignified position. Even if they did, he wouldn't have been able to move his body to hex them.

"Well, at least you don't have your ass in the air this time," Buffy reminded him cheerfully, starting briskly out of the portrait hole and in the direction of the infirmary wing, her grip on him secure as he continued to shiver violently.

"Yes," he had to admit under his breath. "That is a small blessing."

***

"You okay, baby?"

Practically buried into the wall of his bedroom, which he had slammed up against the moment his Dark Mark had been activated by her touch, Lucius Malfoy raised pain-filled eyes to Glory, who was looking rather bemused and amused. 

"Actually," he hissed, in a voice laced with blinding agony, his cheeks flushed. "I feel like I have had fifty hot pokers rammed into a rather painful orifice of my anatomy, but thank you for asking."

Glory shrugged with a smile. "Sucks to be you."

"It's your fault, you blasted woman! You didn't inform me that you were connected to the dark magics!"

She actually laughed aloud and mockingly at that. "What part of 'Supreme Goddess of several Hell Dimensions' didn't spell out in big letters than I am pure, one hundred percent bad-girl, Goldielocks?"

"Ah."

Glory snickered. "You're so dumb."

"I resent that."

"And?" she smirked at him. "I'm way more powerful than you and you can't do anything but piss and moan at me, until I wipe out all the mudbloods that you make such a big deal about."

Lucius scowled. "You could do...something...about the pain."

"No can do, baby, I give pain, I don't take away...unless you want for me to distract you," As an implication of her intentions, she dropped her bathrobe. "I'm real good at posing a distraction."

Lucius looked torn between whimpering in pain or sarcastically contradicting her.

Fortunately for him, her tongue in his mouth did prove something of a distraction.

***

"Is he gonna be all right?"

Barely an hour had passed since Professor Severus Snape had been liberated from his own chambers and carried all the way to the medical wing, by the diminutive blonde, for treatment for some kind of...reaction.

Snape was puzzled, although he tried to conceal it. 

His Dark Mark, the scar he would eternally bear for his folly as a youth, had only ever been triggered by Lord Voldemort. It had been placed by him and could, as far as Snape had known, only be activated by his touch.

Something had activated it, though.

Something with more malevolent power than the Dark Lord had ever had.

Something that had convinced him his body was going to split itself apart. It was far worse then cruciatus had ever been and he only hoped that there hadn't been any lasting damage.

Lying on the bed, his head throbbing where it lay on the pillows, he couldn't even manage to lift a hand, though not for the want of trying. Tilting his head a fraction, a groan escaping him, he caught the sound of voices.

"He should live," Poppy replied. "Its lucky you went to check up on him, Professor Summers."

Madam Pomfrey was talking to the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor in a low voice near his curtained-off area and Severus Snape couldn't help listening in on the conversation in confusion.

Summers had been the one to know to seek him out, out of concern?

Fan-bloody-tastic.

"I had no idea you had the sight."

Oh dear Lord...

As if being a female, a Vampire Slayer, a muggle, an American, a blonde, a Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, a general irritation and the splinter imbedded under his skin, she was a bloody Seer as well.

Wonderful.

"Sometimes I just get bad feelings about things," Summers demurred politely. "No big deal really."

Well, well, that was different. 

Someone who 'saw', but didn't brag about it.

"But if you hadn't known to go and check on him, Professor Summers," Pomfrey continued doggedly. "I do quite honestly believe that his heart would have given up on him. This...attack was far worse than anything I've seen him suffer before."

Snape blinked in surprise.

Yes, it had been painful, but that much worse? 

Good grief...

A mental groan escaped him as he realised what that meant.

Bloody wonderful.

He owed Summers, SUMMERS of all people, his life.

As if that bloody debt to James Potter hadn't been enough, so many years ago, now he had another enemy who had stuck their nose in and saved his life when he hadn't asked them too.

_Why_, he wondered, _didn't I just have Voldemort Avada Kedavra me when I still had the chance?_

There was a muffled discussion that he couldn't quite hear, then the drapes around his bed part, to allow the person he wanted to see least entry, an odd expression on her face.

"Hey Snapey, you big faker," she said, sitting down on the edge of the bed he was still unable to walk off, making it impossible for him to escape her. His body, while it was shivering less violently, was still convulsing, aching and annoyingly weak.

"Summers." He closed his eyes momentarily, then spoke again, his throat raw with pain. "I suppose I ought to be grateful to you."

Tilting her head, she studied him pensively. "I guess you heard what the little nursey witch said, huh?" He dipped his chin slightly in a nod. "How'd'you think I felt when you jumped in on my dream?"

A brow rose. "You...have dreams of me, Summers?" he smirked slightly, although it was still painful to even breathe. "I see... you simply annoy me...to get closer..."

"No! You pervert!" His lips quirked in a smug smirk. "You really are a big jerk," she looked like she wanted to hit him, shaking her head. "And you better get your ass up and about again soon. I don't have anyone to annoy." 

"Pity."

"Don't sound so disappointed," she scowled down at him. "I was gonna stay and annoy you here, I'm not real good at being a visitor in hospital places so I can't stay here very long."

"Oh?" He tried desperately not to tell her to depart immediately, trying to remain even a little civil. "And why is that?" A pained look crossed her face and she actually looked serious for a moment, much to his astonishment. "Summers?

"My mom had a cancer scare a few months ago," she replied quietly, her eyes on her hands that were folded in her lap. "Brain tumour," She laughed, a tight, restrained sound that suggested the memory had her close to tears. "Kinda a shock for the girl who slays all bad things to not be able to do anything to help."

The Potions Professor stared at her. He had never considered that before. That, while she had super-hero abilities, her family, her mother...they were just mortal. Normal humans. And for her to reveal this to him...

"Summers..."

She raised her eyes that looked strangely exhausted for one so young, missing Snape's shocked look and smiled, although it was strained. "Hey! She's okay now but I'm still wigged by hospitals. Plus, there was a whole Kinderstod thing... way wiggy... with the creepy, stalky eyes and everything..."

Severus blinked at her. She had the concentration span of a flea, when it came to conversation and he had no idea how she could jump topic so easily. "What the devil are you babbling about?"

"Long story," she replied. "Could tell you, but since you'd sneer and roll your eyes, so I don't think I'll bother." Standing up, she ran a hand through her tangled and unbrushed hair. "And ick. Looks like I'm trying to copy your hair-style."

"How flattering," Snape muttered.

"I try," she grinned, before walking back to the drapes. "You get better, kay? I have so many things to bug you with."

"I'm alive with anticipation," he returned dryly, receiving a chuckle from her. She paused halfway out of the drapes, then turned to him, her brow wrinkling pensively as she studied him and, more significantly, his covered arm. "Is there something else?"

"The mark thing on your arm," All right, that was unexpected. From what he heard, Death Eaters had never reached America, so how did she know of his mark. "Did a lot of people have them?"

"What does it matter?"

The Slayer's face was wrought with concentration. "If there were only a few of you, maybe you would know the guy who Glory touched to make it...well, to do whatever it was that made you hurt..." she said, returning to sit on the edge of the bed. "He's the guy who has to be helping her."

The Potions master tried to deal with the flurry of facts that she had thrown at him.

It was impossible that she knew everything that she appeared to. 

Giles and Dumbledore would never have told her of his past without his direct consent, but here she was, presenting him with a list of reasons for him being in pain, which made considerable sense.

She knew about the Dark Mark, which was an impossibility in itself. Even Giles and Dumbledore assumed that it was gone, so this slip of an annoying little girl knowing about it was...odd to say the least.

It was Glory who had triggered the mark. That made a lot of sense, considering what he had heard about the Hell Goddess.

Summers had realised that Glory touching the mark had been the thing to trigger it, causing the pain which had lead her to finding him. She really was quite bright, in spite of what he had initially thought.

There was an in-betweener for the wizarding world and the Hell-Goddess, who was a Death Eater. That also made a frightening amount of sense, especially is she had contact with the Dark Mark.

Struggling to sit up, Severus arched a brow when Summers eased an arm under his ribs and hefted him up to rest against the pillows behind his back. While not exactly gentle, it helped. "How did you know of my mark?"

"Slayer dreams," she replied nonchalantly, as if prophetic dreams were normal, run-of-the-mill things. "It's where I saw the guy. He's kinda tall, maybe a bit taller than you. He had long hair, white or grey...light-coloured, expensive-looking clothes and he looked really sleazy."

Resting his head against the end of the bed, Snape exhaled a breath. "Malfoy," he said softly. He should have known. Without Voldemort, Lucius would be wanting to jump on the coat tails of the most powerful person around.

"Nuh-uh," Summers shook her head. "I've met Malfoy-guy in diagonally place. This guy was older."

"How old was the Malfoy you encountered?"

She shrugged. "Same age as me, I guess."

"His son."

A pained look crossed her face. "Shoulda known he'd want to get back at me for what I did to Junior."

Black eyes studied her. "Oh?"

"Um...kinda kicked his skanky ass when he put the imperial whammy on me."

"The imperius curse?" Severus felt his brows knitting together, when she nodded. If Malfoy had been within strangling distance, he would have grabbed the boy and throttled him for daring to even look at Summers the wrong way. 

After all, he hastily added, using the imperius curse is bad, very, very bad. It wasn't because it was on Summers in particular. He would have throttled Malfoy for using the curse on anyone.

_And no_, he mused, _that was in no way denial of any kind._

"You...okay, Snapey? You look like someone just shoved that stick even further up your ass."

Ah, that was why he despised her.

"Summers, you know who your assailant is," he said, his eyes closed wearily. "I would suggest that you go and talk him to death and leave me. I have suffered your company for long enough today."

"You really have to work on the subtle thing you got going there," Summers said, her tone very different to the one she usually used. "You rest up cos I don't wanna have to find a new enemy in the school, since you're so good at it."

"Such a compliment," he murmured heavily. 

He heard the swish of the drapes being pushed through and exhaled a sigh, as her high-heeled boots clicked away into the distance. 

Slayer or not, Summers was a puzzle and an irritation all in one form. Despite being saviour of the world a dozen times over at least, she was still nothing more than a dizzy little blonde woman.

They were the one thing Snape knew he could never and would never understand, no matter how much he tried to comprehend them.

They, on the whole, were safer to be avoided.

Summers in particular.

***

"So Glory is...here?"

Buffy, sitting on the end of Willow's bed, squeezed her hands between her knees. "I think she's on her way," she admitted, looking around at their group. The Scoobies were reunited in the tower room, discussing Buffy's dream.

Hermione had been utterly fascinated by the idea of the prophesy dreams of the Slayer, although Buffy had quickly convinced her that they weren't a fun gift to have, especially involving blood, vampires and death.

"You said something about seven-three-oh...do you think that's important?"

The Slayer's brow wrinkled. "I-I think it could be," she said. "I remember when I was unconscious, just before Graduation, I had a dream and Faith was in it...she said something about counting down from seven-three-oh there."

Sitting on the thick carpet on the floor at Buffy's feet, with Willow beside her, Hermione made notes, the red head occasionally leaning over her shoulder to point something out on the page.

Xander ran a hand through his hair. He was leaning against the end of Hermione's bed, his knees upraised, one hand resting on his right knee. "So we've got some good guys who have been in bad places coming to help. Any idea who they are?"

Buffy considered for a moment, pursing her lips in thought. "Spike was there and you guys, I think," she replied thoughtfully. "There was an older guy with black hair and blue eyes. He looked real sad..."

"Sirius!" Willow gasped. "Of course!"

Dawn's eyes went wide. "Sirius Black?"

"Of course!" Hermione added her exclamation to Willow's, squeezing the red-haired witch's knee. "He'll be willing to fight and he'll probably bring Harry and all your brothers along too."

"An army of Reds," Spike smirked. "If that doesn't scare them, nothing will."

"I still owe you a staking, Mister!" Willow pointed threateningly at the vampire, who leered back at her, making sure that she noticed his eyes wandering over both her and her lover. "Or...I could poof ya!"

Hermione slapped Willow lightly on the knee, laughing. "You're terrible."

"What I miss?" Xander demanded, looking bemused.

"In Willow's very first potions lesson, she made a bottle of something for Snape that would alter his sexuality," Hermione informed them. Buffy choked, Xander gagged, Dawn burst out laughing and Spike's grin widened.

"I knew there was a reason he liked you, Red," the vampire said. "Bet he slipped a little something into Dumbledore's tea to get revenge for all those annoying little things the old bloke has done to him."

"And who would Dumbledore go after if he was...uh...that way?"

"You haven't noticed Flitwick's mad passionate crush on old Dumble, then?" Spike roared with laughter at the expression and fraught sounds of disgust and horror from around the room. "Kidding!"

Dawn's face was twisted in a nauseous expression. "Ew...just...ew. Scary visual place... and did I mention the ew-ness?"

"Guys, come on," Anya was actually the one to call attention back to the matter at hand. "Evil Hell Goddess is on her way here and I don't want to die yet. Can we come up with a plan that doesn't involve us all being killed and maimed? Or at least a plan that won't get me killed or maimed?"

Buffy sighed. "No one is gonna get killed or maimed, Anya," she said calmly. "Not as long as I can help it. We know that the Lucius-guy is the one helping Glory and he's kinda hard to miss. Glory won't be able to come straight to Hogwarts because of protection spells and everything. They'd have to come into the castle and that's where we're stronger than them."

"That's right," Hermione noted, looking up from her notebook. "That would give us plenty of advanced warning as well."

"So what's the plan? Do we sleep with stakes and knives under the pillow?"

"If that bakes your cookies, Xan, you do that," the Slayer smiled. "For now, I think we're safe. Professor Dumbledore is working on more powerful protection spells and Anya," The ex-demon looked apprehensive. "He says you can probably help him with ancient protection rites and you guys," she looked down at Willow and Hermione, who squeezed each other's hands. "You're doing the brainy thing to work out what the dream deal is. Especially Ben. I don't know where he came from."

"What can I do?" Dawn asked eagerly.

Buffy gave her a direct look. "You can do the school work mom sent for you and stay out of trouble," she said.

Dawn scowled. "Being a teenager sucks."

***

"You didn't inform me that your little tramp was a seer."

Rupert Giles almost shot out of the seat in fright at Severus' calm voice. Clutching his chest, he gave the younger man a dark look. "At least be kind enough to let me know you're conscious, you pillock."

Still half-seated, half-lying on the bed in the medical wing, Snape looked like he should have been unconscious, his eyes barely slitted open, his face whiter than the sheet that Madam Pomfrey had tucked over him.

Had he the energy or physical strength, he would have immediately departed to return to his chambers. He hated being confined to the medical wing, viewing it as a sign of uselessness.

Unfortunately, he didn't even have the strength to lift a hand and - as Giles had believed - he looked half-dead.

Snape's lips curved in a smirk. "That would reduce the entertainment factor," he replied, shifting slightly to look at Giles, his breath wheezing in his lungs. "I trust you know what left me in this pitiful condition?"

"Glory, Lucius Malfoy and a dark mark connection," Giles nodded grimly. "How are you feeling?"

"Painful," Snape replied, his black eyes half-closed, then fixed Giles with a steady look. "Your Slayer knew."

The Watcher nodded. "I should have mentioned it when we arrived," he admitted it, sighing. "All Slayers are cursed with the sight, but only usually in dreams or waking dreams. It has been a cause of great emotional disturbance for Buffy in the past. She has a deep connection with her dreams now, so when you appeared..."

"She knew of the Mark. Where it was. No seer..."

"Her dreams show her everything, Sev, albeit cryptically," Giles said. "Whoever it is that sends her the dreams doesn't care that she's not meant to know about the mark, only that she needs to know it's important."

"So she knows what I was?"

Green eyes met black. "She suspected anyway, Sev."

"Which is why she dislikes me so."

"Don't be absurd," Giles shook his head. "She dislikes you for being an arrogant imperialist who looks better in black than she does and who can resist her makeover efforts. She wouldn't dislike you for irrational choices made in your youth. Her own friends have made serious errors in judgement and she stands by them. Demon possession, notwithstanding." He looked down, then smiled slightly. "She even fell in love with a vampire."

Snape made an odd clicking sound in his throat, which Giles interpreted as shock and an inability to vocalise that shock with undoing all Madam Pomfrey's work.

"Yes, a vampire, Sev, and don't look so stunned. It was only Angelus." 

"Angelus?!?"

"Souled."

Struggling to keep his eyes on Giles' face, his vision blurring a little, Snape blinked at his friend. "You're telling me..." he said carefully. "That your little...hussy was in love with the souled Angelus?"

"They were in love with one another," Giles answered quietly. "It could have been one of the most tragic love-stories ever composed. To comprehend Buffy, you must be able to comprehend what she has lived through." 

He then proceeded to detail the tale of how the soul had been lost and Angelus had been evil once more, leaving Buffy with the responsibility of sending the man she loved to hell, when his soul had been returned in the middle of their final battle.

When he finally fell silent, he was gazing at a rumple in his trousers, as Snape stared straight up at the ceiling in shock.

"How old was she?"

"She fell in love with him when she was barely more than a child," Giles replied in a low voice. "She was sixteen. He was in his second century. There was something of an age gap, but they were truly in love. I think it almost killed her when she had to be the one to destroy him. She was seventeen when he turned bad, seventeen and a half when she finally defeated him."

Snape's expression tightened, a line appearing between his brows. "She...she has suffered a great deal for one so young," he said it as a simple statement.

"Far too much, if the truth can be told," Giles admitted quietly. "Which is one of the reasons that I'm so glad that she could be brought here. Five years as the guardian of the gates of Hell is enough for any one little girl."

"And you fob her off onto me."

The watcher smiled. "You're the only one, including Dumbledore, who might be able to provide the mental challenge she needs to keep herself from going insane, Sev, and vice versa for you. Neither of you have had a real challenge from another human in many moons."

Severus actually chuckled softly. "It is growing harder to catch her off-guard," he freely admitted. "She suspects everything now."

Giles nodded. "I'm sure you'll manage something," he said. "Can't disappoint her now, can we?"

"You will regret pitting us against one another, Rupert, I promise you."

A Ripperish grin was flashed down at the younger man. "I can't wait," Giles said, green eyes glittering. "It's going to be spectacular."


	39. Lessons & Logic

LESSONS & LOGIC

Notes: Starting writing ch. 37, wrote the main scene of this ch. and realised I had to fiddle, so here we have the lead in to the potential battle lines being drawn and good and bad gathering their allies to them. Muahah! Can you sense my fun?

Also, I'm currently grieving for a disk. Two months work of work was enclosed in the disk, a small series of which had not been posted anywhere, completely gone. No explanation why or anything. All I know is that I was finishing chapters and next thing I know, the disk wouldn't open and everything went downhill from their. Next chapter of The Chronicles of Lucius are now on hold, because they were on it too. And various other HP series :( I'm not happy.

________________________________

Poring over the creased sheet of parchment she had...borrowed from her lover's pad, Willow Weasley's attention was focused on solving the riddle provided by Buffy's dream the day before.

Unfortunately, she was in a class.

She was in a class and unaware that everyone was looking at her, as the teacher gave her an exasperated look, one of his hands on his hip, the other tapping his wand against his knee.

"Miss Weasley."

"Hold on a second," Willow replied without looking up, marking some notations down on the page.

"Miss Weasley."

Holding up a hand, she started to scribble down a new thought, splitting seven, three and oh into columns, wondering briefly if there were any pillars in the school with the three numbers on them.

An elbow jabbed her sharply in the ribs and she yelped, flashing a hurt look at Leon Mzimba, who was jerking his head to the front of the class, where Professor Flitwick was looking down at her from his stack of books.

It was the first time she had ever seen the Charms teacher look serious and perhaps even a little bit angry.

"May I ask what you find so interesting, Miss Weasley?"

"Um..."

White eyebrows rose. "A secret, perhaps?"

"I'm not allowed to say it out loud," she mumbled, blushing beetroot, wondering what her classmates would say if she announced that she and her friends were trying to find a way to save the world.

Again.

"If that is the case, Miss Weasley, perhaps you would be kind enough to keep it for outside the class," Flitwick said calmly. "After all, it is known that charms is your weakest subject."

Willow went scarlet, her ears burning and gripped her quill tightly. 

"Accio this and see if you think it's important," she mumbled, scribbling down just what she was working on, on the page and folding it, before holding the sheet in the direction of the teacher.

Flitwick summoned the sheet with a flick of his wand and unfolded it, his eyes scanning down the words. Much to his credit, he managed to contain his shock, only uttering a little squeak of surprise.

Folding the page again, he gave her a look. 

"While this is a valid subject for study," he said, his voice even squeakier than usual, his eyes holding hers. "I would prefer if you kept it outside the class, lest it fall into innocent hands. Retrieve your page, if you will."

Willow nodded, withdrawing her wand to summon the page back.

Unlike the rest of the first years she usually studied with, Willow had been given some additional and more advanced charms to learn, although she was still having trouble with her wand control.

Flitwick landed squarely in her lap.

Everyone else in the combined first year class burst out laughing at the surprised look on the teacher's face and the one of absolute mortification on Willow's.

"Um...hi, Professor," she said sheepishly.

Leon, who was sitting beside her, was giggling as much as Flitwick was. "At least you managed to summon it properly, Willow," he pointed out, grinning from ear-to-ear. "And the Professor didn't combust." 

"Yeah, that's progress," Willow admitted, her face redder than her hair as she lifted Flitwick back down onto the floor and let him hurry back to his little stand where he taught from.

"And now," Flitwick announced, as he climbed back onto the stand. "Since Miss Weasley has finally decided to pay attention and has mastered the basic summoning charm, perhaps we can move on to the lesson."

Tucking her page away, Willow blushed again and promised herself that she would pay full attention to every class from then in.

***

"It appears that we are going to have some guests soon."

Pausing over the cup of coffee she was drinking, Professor McGonagall looked at the Head Master, along with most of the other members of staff. "Are these guests of the good or bad variety, Albus?"

Pacing across the floor, Dumbledore looked seriously around at them. "As you all know, trouble has been brewing since the Hell Goddess has been seeking her key. It is because of her Severus was incapacitated and I'm afraid that he is not the only one to have been affected by Glory."

"So what's the what?" Professor Summers asked. She was sitting around one of the tables with Professor Granger and Professor Flitwick who, after seeing the riddle they were struggling with, had decided to provide his aid where possible. "Who is it?"

"Harry Potter."

Several gasps sounds around the room and Granger's eyes closed.

"His scar," she whispered. "I should have known. Is..." she looked up at Dumbledore in consternation. "Is he all right, Head Master?"

"He is currently in St Mungo's, Hermione," Dumbledore answered gravely. "While Severus' pain centred from his arm and affected the rest of his body by degrees, Mr. Potter's radiated through his skull first. He regained consciousness this afternoon."

"Harry? Will's brother-in-law?" Granger nodded. "Okay, I am so kicking some Hell-Goddess ass!"

"Do not react rashly, Buffy," Dumbledore suggested, making a calming gesture with one hand. "Harry will be fine, but he is being brought here tomorrow, for the same sanctuary that was provided for your sister."

"Willow'll freak," Buffy murmured. "She hates it when anyone she knows gets hurt, especially family."

Granger glanced at the Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts. "Where is she anyway?" she asked casually. "I don't remember seeing her since she went to charms this morning."

"She said that she knew of someone who might be able to solve the puzzle of this dream," Flitwick put in brightly. "She said something about him being a 'master of the sneaky and cryptic like he was in the books.'"

Hermione Granger's eyes went wide. "Of course!" she exclaimed, as if everything in the world suddenly made sense. "How on earth could we have forgotten that he was the one who developed the logic puzzle protecting the stone?"

"Huh?" Summers looked blankly at them.

"Snape," Hermione replied, smiling broadly. "If anyone can solve cryptic puzzles, it would be Snape."

"Snapey?"

Professor Flitwick beamed across the table at her. "Severus, your closest friend," he said cheerfully, giggling when she flashed a dark look at him. "Everyone forgets that the dear fellow is really very clever."

"A smart ass, you mean," Summers muttered.

Flitwick gave her a thoroughly naughty look. "Oh and he has one of them too."

Summers and Granger stared at him, very proud of themselves when they managed to actually blink.

***

The pain had finally receded so that he could breathe clearly once more, the wheezing rattle cleared from his lungs. The ache in his bones still lingered, but it was bearable, under the influence of various numbing potions.

Seated in the dungeons, Severus Snape had never been more relieved to leave the infirmary wing than he had that morning.

It had taken some convincing on his part to persuade Madam Pomfrey that he was well enough to be left on his own. To prove his point, he had stood up and scowled at her, until she had relented and told him he could go.

Of course, he had passed out on the bed as soon as the little medi-witch disappeared through the drapes, but that didn't matter now. He was out of the wing and back in the security of his favoured surroundings.

Since he had returned, the younger Summers had already invaded, bringing with her a small cauldron full of a near-perfect draught of Angel's Kiss, an obscure potion for pain relief, which she claimed to have found just 'kinda lying around...in places'.

Lying around.

The answer only a teenager could come up with.

He smiled slightly, delighted that the girl had actually used her initiative and decided to try to brew some potions without his direct order. She had a genuine gift with the subject and he was pleased to see her testing herself. 

That she had managed to brew Angel's Kiss with only the most basic of ingredients was impressive.

It has worked remarkably well too, which had truly surprised him.

He would have to keep a closer eye on her, lest she try something too advanced and bold, in case anyone was caught in the flow by accident or design.

A quiet but firm tap on the door caused him to raise his eyes. 

"Enter."

The door creaked open, a sylph-like figure easing into the room, her loose red hair around her pale face - still vivid in spite of the shadows of the class - making her instantly recognisable to him.

"Miss Weasley," he murmured. "This is a surprise."

It had been weeks since she had been in the class. 

After the success of her first class and many discussions among other members of the staff, it was decided that - for the rest of Autumn term - Weasley would focus on eradicating her weaknesses, so she could join the senior classes in the new year.

This had meant that her sessions in the potions classes - where she was already up to the standard of the seniors - were replaced with additional charms, transfiguration and arithmancy classes, which were her greatest weakness.

Walking briskly forward, the red head gave him a smile as she drew nearer the desk he was sitting at. "I figured that I've been letting Buffy do all the annoying, so it's my turn now," she said.

"Indeed," A brow lifted. "You seem very sure that you can irritate me."

"I made you laugh once. I can annoy you."

There was a lazy chuckle. "That was before your charming friend with the everso natural blonde hair became involved in the scenario, Miss Weasley. You are the gnat of annoying, while Summers is the great white shark."

She pulled a face at him. "Says you."

"Obviously," he smirked, his eyes hooded. "And you are here for what purpose, other than to attempt to outdo your...associate's skill at being painful?"

A sheet of paper was slapped down on the desk in front of him. "Actually, I'm here for an important reason," Weasley replied, her expression turning serious. "I know you're a real smart guy..."

"Your perception astounds me, Weasley, but I would hardly consider it a subject of great import."

A huff of annoyance escaped her nostrils. "Will you let me finish?" He made a graceful gesture for her to continue with one hand, a smirk on his lips. 

Weasley was so much easier to agitate than Summers. She had a giddy nervousness that flared up from time-to-time when she was both annoyed and afraid, which he found very amusing. Summers, on the other hand, tended to react in similar ways to all situations: by biting back when bitten. 

"Buffy had a wiggy dream and we're trying to work out what it means and since you're uber-cryptic lurking guy and did that potions puzzle thing when Harry and everyone were going after the Philosopher's stone..."

"That was mere logic," he interrupted in a level tone. "There was no...uber-cryptic, as you so eloquently phrase it, involved, Weasley, so if you would be kind enough to elaborate on your presence and why it continues to infect my atmosphere."

"You're doing the interrupty thing again!" She pointed a finger at him. "This is way important and if you would stop with the interruptions, I would get to the explaining and everything!"

Snape chuckled softly. "Explain then, Miss Weasley. Why are you here?"

"Uh..." She looked a little stunned that he had asked the question directly.

"How very eloquent you are, for an American."

"Hey!"

"And so patriotic," he added with a smirk. "I am still awaiting an answer, Miss Weasley. What is contained in the document you are beating against my desk and is it of significance pertaining to your presence here?"

"Huh?" she stared at him, then looked down at the page beneath her hand, which was looking rather...rumpled. "Oh! Yeah! Paper-thing - its the stuff Buffy remembers from her dream and we're still trying to work out what it means, so I kinda brought it to you, to see if you could stop being Mister Cranky Ass for once and do something helpful with it."

"Mister Cranky Ass," Snape echoed dryly, the words sounding absurd with his very proper English intonation. "You really are doing very little to champion your case by insulting me, Miss Weasley."

She glared at him and his smirk widened. "No wonder Buffy thinks you're an annoying jerk," she mumbled.

"And I am less than interested in the wonderful Miss Summers' opinion in me," he replied lazily. A pale-skinned hand unfurled. "If I may...?"

Shoving the folded sheet into his hands, Weasley crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him, but it had a less than intimidating effect. Honestly, she was about as terrifying as a kitten.

Smoothing out the page, he looked down at the scribbled words. "Is the dream written down in sequence?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do try and say 'yes', Weasley," he sighed, not looking up from the sheet before him. "Even your limited American lexis should be sufficient to allow a simple, three-letter, one-syllable sound of concurrence."

"Would you stop being all picky about the way I speak?"

"But you make it so easy, Miss Weasley," he replied, his glinting eyes rising to her, his lips curving.

She looked angry, but that still did nothing to make him quiver in his boots. Her lips were pursed, her eyes narrowed in annoyance and her cheeks were flushed almost as dark red as her hair.

"I'm gonna tell Buffy you were being a cranky jerk," she said.

"My God, I am positively shaking with fear," he replied dryly, his eyes back on the page. "Tell me, Weasley, when was this graduation incident, when Summers had the first dream that mentioned seven-three-oh?"

"It was a year and a half ago, in the summer in 1999," Weasley answered, sounding a little confused. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Picking up his quill, Snape dipped it into the ink well, then started to write in the margin of the page. "Summers stated that this...Faith girl claimed she was 'counting down from seven-three-oh', correct?"

"Yeah...yes."

Snape's eyes rose to the red head and he almost smiled as she corrected herself and tilted her chin defiantly. "If you are counting down, that does suggest that you are leading to a certain time, does it not?"

"I-I guess so."

"Then," he continued slowly, writing steadily in the margin as he did so. "You must consider what you are counting down from. Since this number has been mentioned again, recently, and is once again pertaining to a countdown, it would suggest that it was not counting down in seconds, minutes or hours, but in days or weeks. I would believe it to be days, which would mean seven-three-oh would be seven hundred and thirty days."

"Oh!"

"And, when seven hundred and thirty days are halved, you are left with two sets of three hundred and sixty-five."

"And there are three hundred and sixty five days in a year!" 

Snape nodded, smothering a smile. "How very astute you are, Miss Weasley. Thank you for finally bothering to catch up. Now, if my assumptions are correct, it means that whatever is coming will happen two years after the first dream, which will be some time in the next six months."

"That is SO obvious!"

"And yet, you were not aware of it until I pointed it out to you, Weasley," he said, flexing his aching hand slowly. "Obviously, your powers of observation are inherited from your father, who did not notice that your mother was pregnant until she handed him the child."

"Don't you insult my parents!"

"You have obviously never heard the tale of your eldest brother's birth, have you, Weasley?" Snape said, an odd, amused twinkle in his black eyes. "But now, back to this dream. Am I correct in assuming that the bisection of the hall is symbolic of the two sides who will be involved?"

The witch studied him, then looked at the paper. "Buffy thinks so," she replied, pointing to the sketch that the Slayer had done of the positions. "There are more people on our side, which is good, but she said there were a lot on theirs as well. The blond guy is the main one."

"And this 'Ben' character. What role does he play?"

"He was an orderly at the hospital when Buffy's mom was ill, but we don't know why he was there. He looked like a totally normal kinda guy...at least normal in the Hellmouthy way, with no horns, fangs or tail or anything." 

Snape rubbed the hollow of his cheek with his thumb pensively. "Interesting. Do trivial elements of Summers' life often feature in her dreams?"

"Not unless they're real important."

There was a long silence, as the Professor looked over the drawing again, his brows creasing in thought.

"She stated that Glory was behind her, here," he said, pointing to the staircase in the small sketch. "Then, when she turned away briefly and turned back, Ben was standing in the same place exactly."

"So Ben could be connected to Glory somehow?" Weasley looked rather dubious at the thought of it. "But he...he seemed so nice!"

"So, I hear, did Angelus."

The girl gave him an anguished look, then nodded. "So we find out where Ben is, if we can," she decided firmly. "Then find out what he knows about Glory and what we can do to stop her."

"And we ignore the fact that we are clearly having delusions of grandeur about our abilities," he finished, arching a brow at her when she scowled.

"Look, Mister Cranky Ass, just because you don't believe we can do this and stop Glory and save the world, _again_," she snapped shortly. "Doesn't mean that you have to go all bitchy britches on us every time we suggest something! At least we're trying, which is more that we can say for you!"

"And what have I just done by solving your little riddle for you, Weasley?"

Weasley glared at him. "You just like being a lurky, broody, crank-meister way too much," He raised a brow, as if to ask her why she was stating the obvious. "Would it be so hard for you to smile or play nice once in a while?"

"Weasley, playing nice is for people with time, patience and sugar flowing in their blood-stream. I am not nice, I never have been nice and I don't intend to become nice because some red-haired witch with too much lip thinks I should be happy."

"Well, can you maybe...I dunno...cut down on the PMS-ing?"

Snape laughed. Then covered with a cough. "PMS, Weasley?" he tried to growl, but he was almost smiling at the thought. He had heard his temper being called many things but never had it been attributed to PMS. "This is the way I am."

"I don't get it."

"That not everyone exudes sunshine and light? Welcome to the world, Weasley."

"No, Cranky Ass," she retorted. "You. You got a good job, you've got people who care about you," he snorted and she glared at him. "Like Dumbledore and Giles, you get to spend all day every day doing what you like most and still, you sulk and bitch in the dark and scare kids just cos you can. Don't you even try to be kinda happy?"

"Miss Weasley," he started to stand, then thought the better of it, his body screaming in protest. "Have you ever considered the fact that I may already be quite content with my lot? Simply because I do not show it, does not mean I am any less satisfied."

"But don't you wanna...you know...find someone special? Settle down?"

Snape gazed at her, suddenly understanding. "Ah, Weasley, I see. In the rapture of your own little...union, you have decided that it is unfair for anyone else in the world to be single, whether they prefer it that way or not."

"Little union?" Her cheeks went scarlet. "No! No union! Haven't been doing anything of the kinky and naughty unionising kind!"

His lips curled. "Mmm-hmm?" Snatching the sheet of parchment, she fled to the door, her face flaming. "Oh, and Miss Weasley," he called after her, as she stepped out into the hall. "Give Miss Granger my regards."

Her whimper carried back to him as she slammed the door shut, leaving the Potions Professor chuckling to himself in the dungeon. 

***

"And who do we have here, baby?" 

Lazing on the couch, Glory raised her eyes to the next candidate. There had been so many disappointments in the last few hours, she was beginning to doubt that there was anyone who would be able to perform the task she had in mind.

Lucius motioned the dark-haired young woman forward. "Someone willing to help you find what you're looking for, my dear."

On the other side of the room, Draco snorted over the book he was reading. His father flashed a warning glare at him, which he ignored. It was clear that the younger of the men despised Glory for the place she had assumed in his father's affections, usurping the position of his mother.

"Is that so, cupcake?"

The woman before her swayed on the spot, blue-grey eyes fluttering, her alabaster skin deathly white in the soft light of the candles. "There's such a knocking coming from the door," she whispered. "Mmm…soon, it must be opened or everything will fall down! Like a ring, a ring of rosies…"

"Yeah?"

"Mmm," Rubbing her hands down her body, the woman murmured a purr of low approval. "I can feel it tingling around like worms in my belly," she gasped, her eyes snapping open as she stared down at Glory. "But the naughty girl with sunshine in her hair…she has your key and the door shall not open without a key!"

Glory sat upright, studying the brunette. "Well, well, baby, looks like we got us a winner here," she smiled.

"You and the secret one who hides away deep inside of you will know me," the dark woman sang softly. "Even though, he who slips and slides inside does not know of all your true faces."

A curious look crossed Glory's face. "You know, sweetie," she said, sliding onto her feet and holding out a hand, which the dark woman took without hesitation. "I think we're gonna get on real well."

***

"Omigod! Harry!"

Called from her dormitory to the infirmary by the Head Master, Willow Weasley stopped short at the sight of her brother-in-law and sister, one hand coming to her mouth in shock.

"Don't…shout…" Lying in the bed, Harry Potter looked like he had faced death, yet again, and come close to losing the battle, his face greyish, his eyes blood-shot as he squinted at Willow.

"What happened?" Willow asked, looking from him to Ginny, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding one of Harry's hands between hers. "Ginny?"

"It is the same situation that affected Professor Snape, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore was the one to answer the question. "Glory's touch caused a reaction similar to that which Voldemort's presence had on Mr. Potter."

"In this case," Harry muttered. "Bloody headache…at worst possible moment…just ask the missus..."

Ginny laughed weakly. "Don't be dirty, Harry," she said, her voice cracking. Willow rounded the bed and wrapped her arms around her sister immediately, Ginny leaning back against her gratefully. "He was on his broom...Quidditch game...fell off from fifty feet up..."

"Landed on my head...so no permanent damage, eh?" he quipped, squeezing Ginny's fingers gently. 

"You could have been killed!"

Harry winced. "Gin...not loud...please..."

"Sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling as she touched his brow. "I just...you just fell...I-I've never been so scared..."

"He's gonna be all right now," Willow assured her twin, hugging Ginny tightly. "I bet Professor Dumbledore is working on all kinds of neat charms to protect the school and everything in it."

The Head Master nodded seriously. "Miss Emerson, Mr. T. Bloody," Willow and Ginny both giggled a little at the name. "And Minerva are devising ways to utilise some of the old magics to protect the school and grounds."

"Are you sure its safe to let those three work together, Professor?" Willow asked dubiously. "I mean, Spike and Anya are bad enough..."

"I do believe it's a good deal safer to let them work together," Dumbledore said with a suggestion of a smile. "Confined to one room, than to have them spread throughout the castle, causing mayhem."

"Speaking of mayhem, where's Buffy?"

There was a blatant twinkle in Dumbledore's blue eyes as he surveyed the young witch. "I do believe that she has gone to the Great Hall to meet our guests, along with some of the staff body."

"Why do I suddenly feel very suspicious?"

Harry chuckled. "Because you've started to understand old Dumbledore's way of thinking," he replied in a tired whisper. "Best go and see for yourself, before too much damage is done, Will."

"Reassuring much?" she retorted, giving her twin's shoulder a squeeze. "You gonna be okay here, Ginny?" Ginny nodded, smiling faintly up at her. "Okay, mister," she turned an accusing finger to Dumbledore. "If anything of the bad, icky, or cursey variety has happened, you are so gonna regret it!"

"Respectful as always, aren't you, Miss Weasley?" the old wizard chuckled. 

Willow just stuck her tongue out, before striding out of the wing.

***

"Always a pleasure to see you again, Black," Professor Flitwick piped up, bouncing on his toes beside the tall wizard, who smiled broadly down at him. "Do you intend to remain long?"

"Long enough, sir," he replied cheerfully, scanning around the Hall for anyone who might be the famed Vampire Slayer or one of her merry minions, whom he had heard so much about.

He, along with the older Weasley sons, had been sent scouting out on Dumbledore's request, almost a month earlier, for anyone who would be willing to take a stand against the most serious threat their world had ever faced.

However, Harry's near-fatal fall, at the Quidditch world cup trials, had forced him to rush back to make sure that his Godson was safe and was going to live.

Then, of course, Dumbledore had managed to contact him again, offering a safer haven for Harry than anything he knew he could possibly provide, with the protection of the Slayer to boot.

Bill and Charlie were chatting amiably to Professor Granger, who seemed to be in a sunny mood. Edging closer, his nostrils flared a little, his animagi senses kicking in and he grinned a little.

Well, well, well, Hermione...that was certainly a turn up for the books.

Now, who was the lucky bugger...?

"Look, you cranky jerk," a female voice cried in the entrance hall outside, catching his attention and distracting him from the scent that was all over the brown-haired witch. "I know you're in pain, so if you would stop being so damn stiff-upper-lippy and noble and let me help you move a bit faster, maybe we could get into the hall sometime before Glory actually gets here and tries to kick our asses!"

"Summers," Black mentally winced at Severus Snape's voice. "I have no need of an irritating blonde crutch. Now, cease in this ridiculous behaviour!"

"No way, Crankenstein," the voice retorted. "I'm helping you drag your sorry achy butt into that hall whether you want me to or not."

"Summers," Snape's voice sounded even more irritable than usual. "I would be most gratified if you would leave my posterior out of this conversation, release my limbs and allow me to move under my own volition."

"Too late, Mood-meister," she answered back. "We're here already."

The sight was truly an amusing one to behold and - had Sirius been less stunned by what he was seeing - he knew that there was every chance that he would be on the floor, laughing hysterically.

Snape was practically being carried by a stubborn-looking blonde with a determined look in her eye. One of his arms was around her shoulders, although it didn't look like he had placed it there by choice, and the other was pinned by his side.

It took an expert observer to notice that Snape's feet weren't even touching the ground beneath the robes that were trailing along the stone floor.

Deposited back on the floor, Snape's well-known death glare was directed at the stubborn-looking blonde, who smirked at him and straightened her black trousers and red pullover.

The blonde looked around, then spotted Sirius, hazel eyes widening in recognition and she was moving towards him far too rapidly for him to turn and flee in panic.

"Hey!" A hand was stuck out to him and he was sure he felt his knuckles crackling when she gripped his fingers and squeezed. "You're Sirius, right? The guy who can turn into the freaky big black dog? I'm Buffy Summers."

This was the Slayer?

This tiny, fragile-looking little blonde creature was the Slayer?

"You do speak, don't you?" she inquired, studying him intently. "I mean, you're not some kinda big hairy wildman who just grunts and stuff?"

"I-I speak."

"Two syllables, Black," Snape sneered. "A true record."

"Kiss my arse, Snape," Sirius snarled, a small hand on his chest stopping him from pushing past the Slayer to go and land one on the Potions Professor's smug bastard face. "It'll be the only action you'll get this century."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," another female voice interrupted. "Especially if you don't know where his ass has been!"

"Anya, sweetie, please..."

"Well, it is accurate, Xander..."

Sirius was at a bit of a loss.

Normally, his tirades of abuse directed at Snape weren't interrupted by a pair of blonde girls, one physically restraining him and the other commenting on his...was it his personal hygiene, sexual preference, a combination of the two or worse?

"Snapey," the blonde in front of him glanced over her shoulder. "You gonna behave or do I gotta carry you back to your room and make you?"

So she wasn't afraid of him then.

Definitely the ultimate Slayer.

Any other Slayer would no doubt be cowering in their boots when the Death-glare was directed at them, but Sirius almost grinned maliciously to see Snape scowl and skulk back into the shadows in silence.

"And don't you get all smug, Mister," Buffy turned back to face him and tapped his chest. "You were making Snapey even more bad moody than usual and he's had a bad week, so leave him be, kay?"

"Um...yes..."

What else could he say?

NO! I'll turn into a big black dog and attack him if I like!

Something told him that if he even tried that, the tiny blonde in front of him would beat him senseless to teach him a lesson. She smiled at him in a way that only served to reaffirm that suspicion.

"Now, if the boys are gonna play nicely," the Slayer looked from one to the other, smiling broadly as if oblivious to the fact that they were both baring their teeth in her general direction. "We're all gonna sit down and discuss the problem of a psychotic Hell-Goddess bent on destroying the world."

"WAIT!"

"Oh, hey, Will," Buffy smiled as Willow hurtled in, looking as if she expected to see blood, guts and gore splattered all over the hall. Stopping short, she blinked around, looking a little bemused. "What's up?"

"I thought there was some kinda trouble with...Sirius!" A red-haired whirlwind slammed squarely into Sirius' arms and hugged him, the wizard caught off-balance and staggering a little.

Then he caught a whiff of her scent, his eyes widening.

"Holy shit!"

"I didn't realise that your hugs were that good, baby sister," Bill chuckled at the shell-shocked look on Sirius' face. "Looks like you grabbed onto something he wasn't expecting there."

"BILL!"

"Ahem?"

"Charlie?"

Both the red-haired men were caught in tight headlocks that their youngest sister classified as a 'hug'. "What are you guys doing here?" she demanded, slapping their chests. "You didn't tell me you were gonna visit!"

"A spoil the surprise, sis? Not a chance," Charlie mussed her hair with a rough hand and she grinned back at him, swatting his hand away. "So what did you do to old man Sirius to get him the howl like that?"

"Nothing!"

Bill snickered. "Right, Will, he just yells for no reason."

"What can I say?" Sirius gave Willow a look, his mouth lifting at one side as she blushed crimson. "She smells good. Very good," his blue eyes twinkled at her, then at Hermione, who went equally red. "Very unique perfume you wear, Willow."

"Sirius!"

He just gave them a knowing smirk, then turned back to the Slayer with a dashing smile. "So, Professor Summers, you were saying something about a Hell-Goddess?"


	40. Powers Gathering

The Eighth Weasley - Chapter Forty

Power Gathering

Notes: Happy New Year! 

I'm finally back at my OWN room in my loverly little uni-provided chalet (And yes, I actually live in a chalet in Scotland - have you ever heard anything so odd in your life? :D Its not even a cottage - its a 'chalet'! I live in an oddly-named wooden box! Go me!) and I'm back on my computer (obviously)! WHOOHOO!! 

Have you any idea how much I've missed this thing in the two weeks that I was at home? I was ready to tear my hair out in frustration, cos I'm only allowed an hour on the computer a day at home (and that includes net time and when I have at least 5 e-mail accounts that's not a good thing) - this was hell for me. Normally, I can spend as long as I like on the computers and do what I like!

Anyway, this chapter was plotted when I was at home and I've been dying to write it, but now that I can, I'm betting it won't come together at all considering my mind has been taken over by a LoTR/HP crossover. 

I fear my mind. 

Actually, come to think of it, I fear myself (and not just for the fact that I'm perving over the movie-Wormtongue in TTT - he may be sleazy, but hey! He looks good in black and he's a bad guy :D Gotta love 'em!). 

But anyway, back to the HP/LoTR fic thing - I mean, how many people can say they actually read LoTR and Simarillion several times over, as well as re-reading the Hobbit just to check the basic background material was vaguely right for what MIGHT be a crossover, but might not come to anything? 

And yes, you ARE having to wade through a lot of crap to get to the fic, those of you who are reading this! But this IS actually my advanced excuse for slow output for the next six months! Honestly! I write too much!

The LoTR/HP thing is definitely coming to something for those of you who are interested (cos honestly, since I've brushed it up, its far too intriguing an idea to let lie), which brings my current WIP total to ten crossovers of various kinds for various fandoms and the like, four straight HP epic-type fics of various styles and series, one minor Buffy fic (Drusilla centric no less) and several for the other fandoms I write in, on top of which, I have a newly-rekindled love of the Scarlet Pimpernel - I stupidly bought the video, which reminded me how good the books were (I went through a stage of Pimpernel obsession in 1998 - can I say for the record that those books are bloody brilliant? No? Tough! I love Percy! I love a hero! Be afraid!) and now, I have a huge series planned for that fandom as well. And I just gave myself a thought for a new crossover series. 

Dear God.

Someone should switch off my imagination!

Gyah...

I really should be working on the first 3000-word chapter of my tiny 12,000 word dissertation, which is due in in just over a month and have yet to read the plays I'm writing on properly (which is on Shakespeare and his tragic heroes, in case anyone wondered (and yes I'm babbling - get the feeling I really need internet access right about now? And a livejournal? Yeesh! I have no life...)). I don't see me getting anywhere until I get the first chapter of the LoTR/HP baby out of the way *twitches* 

The name is still undecided, but methinks a play on Tolkein's titles may come about - all hail the man. He definitely knew what he was doing. Still not my favourite books or writer, but the guy could write, I give him that (although someone should have told him that having about 20 names beginning with 'F' in eight paragraphs is just a TEENY bit too much for one mortal mind to take! Plus I was reading it at about 1am, so my mind wasn't on full-power. If it ever is...).

But, I digress, herein, we find out just what's happening around our favourite school of Witchcraft & Wizardry and our heroes. Ben makes an appearance *innocence*. Ron arrives and brings some friends/family-types with him. Sirius is about and is VERY interested in a short, blonde Slayer-type. There's a little bit of conflict. Just a little. Honest. Really. Things pretty much get... interesting, shall we say?

Also, this is an epic-length chapter, because I do have so much to tidy up regarding the character/loose threads etc and the scenes - when I start writing - turn out a lot longer than I intended. *pokes her muse* This thing is in working order, yupyup!

Moi? Evil? I have no idea what you mean ;)

__________________________

"Willow?"

"Mmm?"

"Are you awake?"

"Nope."

Hermione smiled, toying with her lover's hair. "Didn't think so," she murmured.

Morning light was flooding into the room that the two witches shared, the drapes around the bed that they now shared open, as the rays crept across the lush carpet and warmly caressed the two young women.

"We should get up."

"Nuh-uh," came Willow's drowsy reply, snuggling comfortably against Hermione with a yawn, her head resting on the older witch's shoulder. "Isn't morning yet. Don't have to get up."

"And what do you call the odd light coming in the window?"

Green eyes fluttered open and the red-haired girl looked towards the window. Her nose wrinkled. "Magic?" she suggested, raising her eyes to her lover. She shifted and leaned up on her elbow to look down at Hermione. "You gotta go to class?"

"I am the teacher, Will." Hermione raised a hand to brush errant strands of hair back from the Willow's face. Willow had a rosy patch on her right cheek where it had been resting against Hermione's body.

"What about giving me some private classes?" she suggested, raising her eyebrows, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

Hermione pursed her lips and tried in vain look frustrated, failing in a spectacular fashion. "Will..." she began, only for her girlfriend's lips to smother the lecture that was impending.

Moving to kneel over her girlfriend, Willow moaned against Hermione's lips as Hermione's hands moved up her back, one tangling into her hair, the other palpating the skin lazily as she deepened the kiss.

Somewhere along the line, although neither of the couple could be sure where, their pyjamas somehow ended up on the other side of the room, which seemed to be getting a lot warmer.

The heavy gold and red blanket was pushed off the bed, the white sheet melding to the bodies of the two young women.

"I love you, Willow," Hermione breathed, brown eyes meeting green as they broke out of the kiss.

Willow's lips curved up in a happy grin. "This has to be the best way to wake up in the morning," she replied, before nuzzling her way down Hermione's throat. "Love you too, by the way."

"Mmm," Hermione sank back against the pillows, as there was the sound of rapping on the door.

"Hermione!"

Brown eyes popped open. "Ron?"

Willow jerked bolt upright. "Oh crap!" she squeaked.

There was another knock on the door and the brass knob started turning. Shooting a frantic look at Willow, Hermione hastily gave her very naked lover a push, sending the red head tumbling off the bed.

Unfortunately, Willow's legs were wound in the sheet, so she fell, taking the sheet and remainder of Hermione's modesty with her, leaving the older witch sitting in the middle of the bed, very aware of the winter chill.

And in direct line of sight of the door as Ron stepped into the room his sister and best friend shared.

He immediately stopped short.

There was a snort of laughter from behind the bed, which Hermione tried to cover with a quick cough.

Ron gaped at her.

"Er..."

Despite the situation, Hermione couldn't do anything but laugh at the stunned look on her ex-lover's face. Sitting up and pulling her legs up to shield herself a little, she smiled at him. "Morning, Ron."

"I...er...uh...you...naked?"

She glanced down at herself. "Oh no! You noticed!" she exclaimed, trying to pull a mortified face and failing miserably when she started laughing again. "Its not like you haven't seen me naked before, Ron."

A soft sound of indignation came from behind the bed.

"Yeah, but we...we were...you know...seeing each other then."

"Well," she replied reasonably, trying to ignore the muffled giggles of her lover coming from behind the bed. "You are the one that barged into my bedroom without waiting for permission."

Blinking, Ron backed towards the door. "I...er...I was looking for Will...and you, so I thought I would come and see if you were nake... here! I thought I'd come and see if you were here!"

Tilting her head, Hermione gave him a smile. "Would you prefer it if we met you in the Great Hall?"

"We?"

"Willow and...oh! Willow went for a bath, I think, and we'll be down shortly."

"Okay," Ron nodded, wetting his lips. "Um...I'll go now...right now. See you later."

The door slammed shut and Hermione fell back against the pillows, laughing, as she heard his footsteps thundering down the stone staircase of the tower. He was actually running down the stairs!

Willow's head popped over the edge of the bed. 

"Good thing I was the one that ended up on the floor, huh?" she said, climbing back onto the bed. A sheet was wrapped around her body. She swept it over Hermione's body, lying down beside her. 

"Seeing your ex naked is bad enough first thing in the morning," Hermione agreed, one arm sliding around Willow's shoulders. "Seeing your sister naked would be so much worse."

"And he ruined the mood," the red head sighed.

"And almost caught us."

Willow drew back a little, sitting up. "Caught?" Her voice was laced with unease and hurt. "Are...are you saying that us being...you know...out as a hand-holding pair of witchy lovers is a bad thing?"

"No! Not at all!" Hermione sat up. Framing Willow's face in her hands, she forced the younger witch to meet her eyes. "Willow, listen to me, I love you. I just want to have a little time for just you and I. If everyone else knew now, we...it wouldn't let us settle into what we have without people pointing and whispering."

"But they won't..."

"They will, Willow, and you know they will. We might not be as much a rarity as we might have been any more, but we are still very...different from the wizarding ideal couple," Gathering Willow in her arms, Hermione kissed her forehead. "I don't want this to be ruined because people have to point and stare."

Green eyes expressed understanding but Willow still looked down sadly. "I want to tell people, Hermione," she said softly. "I...I have all this happiness inside me and I can't tell anyone!" 

"Not yet," Hermione agreed, exhaling a sigh. Willow nestled against her, her head resting against Hermione's shoulder. "But we will. And we have to have a camera to get the photographs of the reactions." 

Willow smiled faintly. "Especially Ron's."

Hermione grinned, stroking her hair. "If it outdoes the look on his face this morning, I'll be very impressed."

"Well, you prepare to be impressed by my brother's face, Granger!" Lifting her own face to her lover, Willow's smile broadened. "He's gonna be totally shocked! I bet he'll swear in front of mom and then..."

As one, they exclaimed:

"Mouthwash!"

***

"Get off me!"

The fragile-looking raven-haired woman made a strange mewling noise in her throat, jutting out her lower lip like a chastised child. Or at least it would have been child-like, if she hadn't been sprawled over his body, as naked as he was.

Ben groaned.

For the millionth time, he hated Glory.

He hated being her vessel. He hated the fact that she could use his body as her own private transport. He hated feeling like a host with a Hell-Goddess as a parasite lodged within his body, knowing she might take over at any moment. 

Almost his entire life had been devoted to concealing the fact that his body was the home of Glorificus. He was her mask. When things got too hard for her to deal with, she would conceal herself within his body.

It had led to numerous arrests and incidents, in various places the world over. He had lost track of the number of times he had woken in a strange place with strange people and no recollection of how he had come to be there.

Like now.

Taking in his surroundings warily, he quickly realised that he was in a large, four-poster double bed with very expensive linens. The wood of the bedposts and the walls of the room around the bed were some kind of dark wood.

The semi-transparent curtains of the room were deep forest green and the light - was it morning sunlight? - filtering through them made the whole room look like it was submerged underwater.

A few candles were positioned here and there around the bare, dark walls of the room, which could have fitted at least four more double beds in it, the warm flickers damp and chilled by the coldness of the washed out light through the drapes.

Okay.

Some expensive hotel probably, but why was he in bed with a girl?

Glory had never shown any interest in females before, although there had been the random male from time to time, so why was this strange woman all over him like he was going out of fashion?

And how long had it been since _she_ had taken control?

The last thing he could remember, he was in Sunnydale, California, but the wintery chill in the air told him that he definitely wasn't in the sunshine state any longer.

Rolling towards the side of the bed, he swung his legs out from under the crisp white sheets and heavy blankets - green again - the wooden floor cold against the bare soles of his feet.

Pushing the sheets and blankets aside, he looked around.

"Hey," he said, turning to the dark-haired woman, who was kneeling beside him, swaying from side-to-side. "Yeah, you, did she leave any clothes for me this time, or do I have to stay naked?"

He had never managed to decide if the humiliation of wearing Glory's personal choice of clothing was worse than going stark naked.

The woman's scarlet lips, the only part of her body with any colour, spread in a smile that was about as friendly as a man-eating tiger's. 

"The shining one thinks that you must let your little snake wiggle free," she purred, tracing patterns in the air with her fingertips. "Swing from side-to-side, then oh!" Jumping up on her knees, she clapped her hands together. "Jump to attention!"

Ben looked at the wall, very tempted to walk over and smack his head against it.

Not only was he in a strange room, he was in a strange room with a very strange naked lunatic.

As if things could get any worse.

"Meaning?" he asked, wondering how he could have believed he had the patience to consider a career in the medical profession. The woman shook her head, still smiling at him. Crooking a finger in front of her face, she beckoned him. "What?"

"One mustn't speak such naughty things out loud," she confided in a stage-whisper, her eerie, blue-grey eyes wide. "God and his angels are always snooping into such matters and it is unseemly for a lady!"

Sighing, he crossed to the bedside, stopping face-to-face with her. "So what did you mean, then?" he asked again.

The wordless answer came in the form of a very cold hand on a very sensitive spot of his anatomy. He tried to jerk back, but her other hand locked against the back of his neck and she hissed in his ear.

"We are to play, the shining one said. Such fun and games! I can't eat you all up, like the big bad wolf, but mummy says that the little Princess can play with your little snake and make it behave until she has to go back to school and teach them all manner of delicious lessons."

As she spoke, her body seemed to take on a mind of it's own, writhing against his in an all too provocative fashion, her voice lilting and haunted.

Her face drew back from his throat.

Ben stared at her. "You...you mean Glory brought you here for me to screw?"

The woman stared back, licking her canines. "Brought? No, no, silly boy. I came to the shining one and saw you hiding inside so cuddly and warm." Thin fingers rose and brushed the brown curls back from his tanned forehead. "You would be so sweet and young, my pretty little one," she panted.

Breaking free of her grip, Ben backed across the room. "Look, lady, I don't know what Glory told you, but I-I'm not interested in getting laid..."

"Your little snake wants to play hide and seek in the tunnels," the woman answered in a dreamy whisper. her half-closed eyes drifted down his body and she smirked. "It is standing on it's own two feet. You lie, you naughty boy."

Grabbing one of the dresses strewn over the chairs, Ben felt the blood rising in his face as he shielded his groin. "Get outta here," he snapped, hastily tying the skimpy dress around his waist.

"You have made a little tent," the woman noted with clear amusement, rolling onto her back, her head rocking back over the edge of the mattress, her dark hair hanging down towards the floor.

Ben scowled, stalking over towards the window. "Shut the hell up."

"Such a naughty mouth, little boy," she called after him and he heard the rustling of fabric moving beneath her. A startled cry escaped him when slender arms slid around his waist, her skin ice-cold against his. "Mummy might have to smack your bottom."

"I'm not interested," Ben pushed her arms away, raising his hands to jerk wide the green curtains, daylight flooding into the room.

A screech of anguish from the woman behind him was drowned out by a crackling sound, almost like something burning and he turned. She was cowering on the other side of the room, in the shadows, her bone-thin hands covering her face.

"What? You don't like sunlight?"

Her hands were lowered from her face and Ben slammed back against the glass of the massive windows, almost shattering the pane with the impact.

"No, you silly boy," she hissed through elongated fangs, her eyes burning a sulphuric gold in the dark shadows on the far side of the room. "The shining one said you were young and pretty, but she did not say you were an empty-headed fool!"

"You...you're a vampire!"

"Vampire I am and may be still!" Curving her arms out behind her, she craned her long neck forwards, rolling her head. "The shining one promised me a toy to play with, little fool! I would munch you like a cupcake, had she not given orders that you were only a toy!"

"A toy? Glory thinks I'm some kinda object she can hand out to her favourite..." Ben gestured at her angrily. "Her pets?"

The vampire grinned greedily at him. "Yeah," she replied, shaking her head, sending dark waves of hair cascading around her frighteningly thin shoulders. "And you're all locked up in a cage like a little mouse."

"Locked...up?"

"Yeah...the shining one made her pet promise to keep you safe and tight here...and she said her little Princess," She made a little curtsey that was shockingly lewd. "Is allowed to play with the one who bears her."

Ben shot a look over his shoulder. It was barely past sun rise, which gave him all day. "Sorry," he said. "Not interested, so you can just go."

"You think the licks of the fiery ball can keep me away from you, my precious?" she cooed, shaking her head at him as if he were the stupidest creature in the world. "I'm sorry, my pet, but the fiery ball will sleep soon and you can not hope to fight."

"I could stake you," he threatened idly, knowing that she was probably far faster than he was, despite the fact she was almost skeletally thin. Her golden eyes seemed two times too large for her elfin face and she was staring at him intensely.

"You could try, kitten, and I could break you up like a little bundle of twigs," She clapped her hands rhythmically. "Snap! Snap! Snap! I'm not allowed to drink you all up, but the shining one says I am permitted to break you if you are bad." A dreamy look crossed her face and she drew the back of her left hand down her left cheek. "I haven't broken anyone for such a long time."

Leaning against the glass, Ben looked out at the grounds of whatever building he was in and exhaled a sigh of defeat. "I don't have any choice in this, do I?" he said, turning back to face her.

The vampire smiled at him and he shuddered at the sight of her fangs. "Not if you want to keep your little spitting snake where it is," she advised sagely. That thought made him shudder more than the fangs had.

"Okay," he pulled the curtain closed. "Get it over with."

***

"Ron!"

"Willow!" Ron managed to get to his feet from the Gryffindor table, where he was sitting in time to catch his sister in a hug, which knocked him back a step. Landing firmly on his rear, he looked down at the grinning girl in his arms. "You're in a good mood today."

Willow swatted at him playfully. "Its not every day that my favourite big brother comes to visit!"

"Favourite?" a rather indignant voice spoke from behind Ron.

Squirming out of Ron's arms, Willow stared over his shoulder. "Omigod! Percy!"

"Yes," Percy sniffed. "And Bill and Charlie are somewhere hereabouts as well, so I don't see why Ron should be getting all your attention, when...Willow!"

Her arms locked around her brother's neck, after scrambling around Ron's legs and reaching her third eldest brother, Willow slapped a wet kiss on his cheek. "Oh, don't be so cranky, Percy! What dragged you away from work?"

"Away from work?" Percy spluttered indignantly.

"He's here on business and he brought me along," a familiar female voice spoke from between her two brothers and Willow turned. Amy Madison grinned up at her long-time friend. "Hey, Willow."

"Omigod!"

"You were meant to owl her and tell her that you were all coming down, Ron, you daft pillock," Willow looked up happily at Bill's voice, as she squeezed in between Percy - who looked very affronted - and Amy.

"I wanted to surprise her," Ron replied in an injured tone.

"Like Hermione...er...Professor Granger surprised you?"

Ron went red to the tips of his ears and started mumbling over the plate of bacon and eggs in front of him. Bill raised his eyebrows, but said nothing, sitting down opposite his sister and Amy, Charlie by his side.

The Gryffindor fifth years had an extremely early herbology lesson on the edge of the Forbidden Forest so a large portion of the table had already been emptied, making all the more room for the newest arrivals.

"Where have you been, Amy? I mean, its been forever!"

Amy laughed. "Its not been that long," Willow gave her a look. "Okay, maybe it has been a while, but your big brother has been looking after me, haven't you, Percy?" On Willow's other side, Percy made an odd squeaking sound in his throat.

"Percy? Okay, how? What? And how?"

Bill cut in, pointing a gold fork in Amy's direction. "We took her to the Ministry of Magic to see if there was any way to have her trained, Will," he explained. "But they were worried about the amount of dark magic her mother had passed on to her, so they gave her a year of probation with a trusted Ministry wizard to test if she would be dangerous to herself or anyone else."

"And Percy has been looking after me ever since," Amy finished happily. "I've been staying in The Leaky Cauldron with him." She leaned closer to Willow and added in a conspiratorial whisper. "Your brothers are so sweet!"

Willow laughed. "I know, Amy, believe me." Turning to Percy, she nudged him in the ribs. "So, Percy, has Amy been a good girl?"

"Pardon? Oh! Yes! Very satisfactory progress! Developing very well! Have never enjoyed a project quite as much!"

"Are we talking about Amy or cauldron bottoms, Perce?" Bill teased. "After all, you went all doe-eyed, so my bet would be on cauldron bottoms, unless you have a new fantasy about Miss Madison."

The roar of laughter from the rest of the group drew stares from around the hall, but Willow was the only one that seemed to notice Percy's ears going the same shade of red as Ron's had moments earlier.

"I think I will be going to find Professor McGonagall," he snapped crisply, getting to his feet and stomping away up the Great Hall. His three brothers continued to laugh in his wake.

"He's been kinda cranky like that since we got back to the Burrow yesterday," Amy said, frowning. "I thought he'd be glad that I went to bug Ron instead of hanging around him all the time."

"You don't bug me, Amy," Ron said amiably, wrapping one arm around her and pulling her against his side in an affectionate hug, while chasing an errant piece of sausage around the plate with the fork in his other hand.

Amy went scarlet and grinned broadly at him.

Willow mentally groaned, wondering if there was possibly a way that things could get any worse.

Of course, it could.

Buffy and Dawn Summers entered the Great Hall with Harry and Ginny Potter.

"Buffy!" Ron leapt to his feet so fast that poor Amy was pitched backwards off the bench. She shrieked and grabbed Willow, both of them landing in a heap on the floor, while Bill and Charlie fell against each other laughing.

"Hey...Ron, right?"

Ron nodded eagerly, holding a hand out across the table again. "Its nice to see you again, Bu...er...Miss Summers! Are you enjoying being a Professor? I mean, not that you wouldn't, since you're still here, but I suppose you might not..."

"Ahem?"

"Oh, hello again, Dawn," Ron's attention immediately jerked back to Buffy, who was laughing behind her hand, her eyes dancing. "So...what... um...what do you have planned for...er...breakfast?"

"I did kinda plan to maybe eat something of the foody variety," she replied, trying to smother a smile unsuccessfully.

Ron looked down at the spaces on Bill and Charlie's side of the table, then at his own side of the table, where Willow and Amy were picking themselves up and sitting down again. "Er...would you...you know..."

"Like to sit with you?"

"I'm very sorry, Junior Ginger-nut," a lazy male voice drawled from a short distance behind the Slayer and the Potters, who exchanged glances and shook their heads. "But the Professor is sitting with me this morning."

"Is she really?" Buffy inquired, crossing her arms stubbornly and turning to face Sirius Black, who gave her a very wolfish grin, blue eyes glinting. He cocked his head in a very dog-like fashion, pulling his hands up in front of his chest and assuming his pleading puppy look. "All right, already! I hate it when you do that!"

Offering her an arm, Sirius flashed a triumphant grin at Ron, who glared at him. The Slayer seemed oblivious to the looks passed between the two men and cheerfully took Sirius' arm, Dawn grabbing the other.

Dropping back down on his seat, ignoring Amy's words of comfort, Ron scowled darkly after them and Willow wondered if perhaps it would be a better idea to go back to her room and hide in her bed all day until Hermione came back from class.

At least, she mused, there wouldn't be anyone else bold - or stupid - enough to join in the battle for Buffy's affections, with a former murder-suspect turned prisoner of Azkaban and the famous Ron Weasley.

***

"Excuse me?"

Standing upright on a muggle-clothed man's shoulders, stretching upwards towards the candle hangings, Professor McGonagall looked down at the young man standing at the door. "Percy Weasley!" she exclaimed in relief.

The former Head Boy stared at the Deputy Head Mistress of Hogwarts, as she kicked the head of the blonde man beneath her and leapt down from his shoulders, caught a moment from landing by him.

"Perhaps you could be of some assistance to me, Mr Weasley," she said, puffing a little. Her face was flushed and several strands of dark hair had come loose from her orderly bun, which was almost as terrifying as seeing her standing on some random man's shoulders.

"A-assistance?"

"Another brain-dead prat, eh, Minnie?" the blond grinned at her and she sorely looked like she wanted to hit him. "Yeah, the lady needs a bit of a hand, since her wand kind of...er...'accidentally'," He made airquotes with his fingers. "Ended up stuck in the candelabra."

"You threw it up there, you blonde nit!"

Percy Weasley clearly wasn't used to this behaviour from his former - and he had believed her to be wise and sensible - House Mistress, a panicked look crossing his face as he started backing rapidly towards the door.

"Weasley! Stop backing away! I need you to get my wand back!"

"Run, you pillock, before she slide-tackles you and nicks your wand!"

Somehow, the blond man's advice made a great deal of sense, considering the fact that Professor McGonagall was prowling towards him like a big cat, looking far too dangerous. Turning on tail, Percy fled from the room.

***

He wanted to kill Black.

Pausing, he considered that thought.

He had always wanted to kill Black, ever since they were at school and for plenty of very good reasons. Although, up until today, he had never felt the urge to poison the bloody man quite as fiercely.

And he wasn't quite sure he liked his motivation.

In fact, he knew he would happily poison the motivation as well.

Strange, he noted to himself, that his motivation was the single most annoying blonde-haired, muggle-born, wannabe-Professor, American hussy that he had ever had the misfortune to clap his eyes on.

What he couldn't explain was why he was so deeply and irrationally irritated to see Sirius Black talking and laughing with Summers.

And Summers Junior.

Summers Junior, though, was flashing desperate looks at him. It seemed like she was begging him to save her from Black's dire attempts and courtly behaviour and what he termed as his 'sense of humour'.

It had never been successfully defined.

Some had said that man would sooner tap-dance on the sun than understand Sirius Black's so-called sense of humour.

Sitting at the High table, he looked down at his plate, glaring at the gleaming dish and the reflections in it. He could see that Dumbledore was watching him with that odd little knowing smile on his lips and, more than anything, he wanted to hurl the plate at the Head Master.

That would be immature, though.

Under the table, he directed his wand at Black's plate and sent it hurtling towards Dumbledore, who - faster than a man his age should have been able to - whipped out his wand and redirected the plate at Black.

Both Black and Summers yelled in protest and surprise, while the Weasleys burst out laughing nearby, along with half the school.

Snape leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smirk reaching his lips, his wand safely concealed back inside his capricious sleeves.

The smug satisfaction faded the instant he looked at Dumbledore.

The Head Master shook his head in mock-gravity, a broad smile on his lips, his blue eyes twinkling. 

With a growl of frustration, Snape stormed to his feet and swept out of the Great hall in as impressive a fashion as Percy Weasley had just over fifteen minutes before, his robes flaring around him.

***

"She's gone mad!"

Hermione yelped in surprise when Percy Weasley practically tackled her on the way down the staircase to the Great Hall, grabbing her by her upper arms and giving her a wild shake. "Percy!"

"She was on his shoulders! She was standing on his shoulders! And she called him a blond nit!" he exclaimed pitifully. "The Deputy head Mistress of the school! I can't believe how much the standard of the school has fallen!"

"You saw Spike and McGonagall?"

"Spike?"

"The blond vampire?" Percy's dark brown eyes formed large and perfect circles, which matched the stunned 'o' of his mouth and he blinked owlishly at her. "And I suppose that you didn't know he was a vampire, did you?"

"I came because Amy asked if she could come and visit Willow," Percy mumbled to himself. "Certainly didn't expect to run into a vampire, especially with his head up Professor McGonagall's robes..."

Hermione smothered a giggle, wondering if it would be incredibly mean to mention that the vampire and the teacher had been known to play strip poker and gamble over games of snap in the staff room.

"Miss Granger! Mr Weasley!"

"It's her!" Percy yelled wildly. He was off again, running, as Professor McGonagall appeared in the Hall, leaving Hermione laughing helplessly, leaning against the stone balustrade beside her.

McGonagall watched him go, looking a little perplexed. "Very excitable little fellow, isn't he? To think he is included in the mad group, who are meant to be the ones who saved the world. Shocking, absolutely shocking." she remarked, then turned her attention to Hermione. "Granger, do you happen to have your wand?"

"Of course I do."

McGonagall sighed with relief. "Then perhaps you would be kind enough to help me to retrieve my own wand. Billy believed it would be highly amusing to throw out of my reach and the nitwit managed to get it trapped in the candelabra."

"You realise that your antics with Spike have terrified poor Percy, don't you?"

Professor McGonagall's expression was serious, but there was a naughty twinkle in her eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Miss Granger," she said with a long-suffering sigh. 

"I'm sure," Hermione retorted, grinning.

***

"But it's breakfast time!"

Dawn gave Duncan a reproving look. "Stop complaining. If you had come to the Great Hall when I told you to, you wouldn't have missed breakfast," she hissed at him, jerking him sideways as a group of Hufflepuffs went hurrying past them. 

They were hidden under Harry Potter's invisibility cloak and were on the way to their so-called 'hang-out', the girls' toilets on the second floor. Duncan was sure they were just using the cloak, because Dawn thought it was cool.

"Can't we do this after our first class?" Duncan asked again, his stomach growling loudly. "Or maybe after I have some breakfast?"

"I have to check on my potion!"

There was a silence, as they hurried down the hall towards the toilets. 

Finally, Duncan gave in to curiosity. "What are ye working on?"

"Polyjuice."

"POLYJUICE!?!"

A hand was slapped firmly across his mouth. 

"Not so loud, dork-brain! I don't want the whole school to know about it!" Dawn whispered in annoyance, glaring at him. "If Harry, Ron and Hermione can make it, I can make it!" 

"But ye're not allowed to!"

"Which is why we're doing it secretly, doofus," Dawn said impatiently. "C'mon!"

Duncan made an incoherent sound of concern. 

"You're scared of getting caught, aren't you?"

"Me?"

"That was a very manly squeak."

Duncan shot a glare at her. "Has anyone ever told ye that yer the most annoyingly girl in the world?"

"Every day," Dawn replied airily, grinning. "C'mon! I wanna check the potion, then we can go back and see everyone! Harry and Ginny have actually come out of the medical wing and Ron is visiting again!"

"Ron? Ron Weasley?"

"Duh!" Dawn exclaimed. "Who else? Its kinda like a reunion of all the heroes from the books! Harry Potter, Sirius Black and all the Weasleys! Someone said that Fred and George would be arriving this afternoon!"

"The Weasleys that run Zonko's?"

"You got it."

A look of hero-worship crossed Duncan's face. "All right, we have ta get back tae the Great Hall as soon as possible! Can ye introduce me tae them? I've always wanted tae meet them!"

Dawn grinned. "Only if you shut up and come with me to check my potion."

***

"Afternoon, Willow."

Sitting in a large, comfortably squashy chair, Willow looked up at her lover, a weary smile coming to her lips. "Hey, sweetie." 

They were in the large living room that had been provided for all the guests. Various doors lead off into the dozen guest rooms, but most of the group were currently sitting around the room, chatting and laughing.

Suspiciously, Dawn Summers and Duncan Cameron appeared to be in some kind of secret conclave with the Weasley twins, who had arrived late, during the evening meal with a fantastic display of their latest tricks.

Needless to say, the twins had immediately sold out of these rare goodies.

Dawn and Duncan looked like they were having the time of their life.

"Why so tired?"

Leaning forward in the seat, Willow nodded over to the opposite side of the room, where Percy was sitting in the cushioned window seat with a book in his hands. Why he was pretending to read a Sesame Street book, Hermione didn't know.

"He has been behaving rather...strangely today."

"He has someone on his mind," Willow muttered, jerking her head subtly in the direction of the table, where Buffy, Ron, Amy, Xander, Sirius, Harry and Ginny were sitting and discussing the threat of Glory. 

Ron looked like he was very interested in something the Slayer was saying.

Hermione looked from the table to Percy, then saw just who the most rigid of the Weasleys was staring longingly at. "He fancies Amy?" she whispered in shock.

"I think so," Willow said, exhaling a breath. "Which definitely isn't of the good."

"How do you work that out?"

"Look who Amy is interested in."

Sure enough, Amy was sitting so close to Ron that she was practically curled up in his lap, touching, prodding and swatting him at any chance she got, which Ron didn't seem to mind, but then, he was a little distracted.

By a small blonde woman.

Who was currently chatting amiably to a striking black-haired man with dazzling blue eyes.

"Ohhhh..."

"I'll say," Willow muttered, leaning back in her seat. "And Buffy likes Sirius, but I don't think she like-likes him. I dunno why, cos he's all hot and sexy," Hermione raised her eyebrows. "But not as hot or sexy as you," Willow corrected with an impish grin. "And you look better in a dress."

"I would hope so!" Hermione huffed, then glanced at the table again. "What about Ron? Does she know Ron has a crush on her?"

"Buffy wouldn't know if someone liked her, unless they walked up to her, smooched her and said 'I like you like you'."

"So Ron's everso subtle mumbling approach won't go down too well?"

"Mmm."

"And Amy..."

"She's liked Ron since they first met," Willow replied. "She likes kinda goofy, but not too goofy guys, so Ron is perfect in her opinion. Plus, hey! He's my big brother and it's always good to date a friend's big brother, because they can't do anything too bad to you, unless they want you to get revenge."

"Poor old Percy..."

"Shouldn't we feel sorry for Ron?"

Hermione shook her head adamantly. "He can get any girl he wants, if he just puts his mind to it. I mean, look at him! He's tall, good-looking, he has a brilliant sense of humour and he can be your best friend. He always chooses the impossible, though. He has missed so many chances just because he was always looking at the better-looking person in the distance. Has done ever since he met Fleur."

"Bill's wife?"

Hermione nodded. "Ron fancied her for months."

"So him and Amy...?"

"We stop at all costs."

Willow grinned, shifting in the seat so Hermione could perch comfortable on the deep red velvet of the arm. "So what do you have planned, oh wicked witch? Do you want to help out my hopeless big brother?"

"Percy hasn't had any luck with women, mainly because he has been so focussed on his work," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Now, he is interested and that's because the woman started out as work."

"And that woman is interested in the goofy younger brother."

"Willow, we're witches," her lover reminded her. "If we want Ron out of the picture and we want to push a certain pair together, I am sure that we could achieve it without too much difficulty."

"You don't think Ron would mind that we took a potential girl friend away?" asked Willow, worrying her lower lip.

Hermione glanced across the room at Amy and Ron. Ron had an arm around her, but he was still talking to the Slayer. "I think he sees Amy more as another little sister, because she came into his life at almost the same time as you. I don't think he could see her as anything else. And now...Buffy and Sirius..."

"NO!"

"Why not?"

Willow gave her lover a look. "Because," she replied simply. "Buffy would kill both of us in a very slow and painful way."

"Ah."

"Yeah." 


	41. Show & Tell

The Eighth Weasley - Chapter Forty-One

Show & Tell

Notes - Okay, I messed up bits of the sequences of some scenes in the last chapters and overwrote big time especially since I'm trying to stick with the 15 page chapters and I'm seriously not-managing it (although I am determined this story will NOT go over 75 chapters. It won't! (And I'm also still stunned that I can reach 15 pages without any effort whatsoever. How do I do this? HOW?)), while re-writing, so now, we finally have the scene that I've been juggling for the last 4 chapters. Halle-frigging-lujah!

And, (**new notes**) - this is the biggest chapter of this to date. Can't believe I managed this, considering how worried I was that I wouldn't be able to reach my usual word/ page numbers with this chapter. Then, of course, I didn't realise quite how many threads I had on the go at once. My silly.

Also, for the record, I want to apologise in advance if my Hagrid-voice is a bit off. I haven't written him for a while and I'm not a good judge of how accurate my character voices are. I do try and stay in canon as much as possible, but it does get a bit confunding when you have so many characters from two separate canons (soon to be three - muaha! A spoiler!).

Hope you like it though. I had an amusing time with some of the scenes. Some. Ha. I had fun with all of the scenes, really. Oh, and watch out for skin-tight leopard print! It might put you off your dinner ;)

____________________________________

"You're leaving me here?"

"Mmm."

Ben sat up amid the muddle of sheets and blankets on the bed, staring at the vampire woman, who was donning a tight-fitting black gown. "But I thought you were meant to be guarding me."

"That is because you have a head full of cotton candy," she replied dreamily, as she smoothed the bodice of her dress. "I came to play with your little snake, because my pet is so lost and far away."

"Glory didn't give you permission to play with me, did she?"

The vampire grinned at him. "The shining one permitted me to play," she replied, her head swaying from side to side in a strangely reptilian fashion. "But I do not think she believed I would ride her hidden pet," She clapped her hands together gleefully. "Like a wild pony, you are!"

"You're crazy!"

She pouted, whimpering deep in her throat. "That is no way to be talking to a lady, you wicked boy," she chastised, walking to the bed and kneeling to crawl across the mattress towards him. "So hot...fierce..."

Ben's protest was smothered, when her cool lips pressed against his again.

Those chilly fingertips touched his cheek as she drew back, staring at him, her tongue running along her teeth. "If mummy's job is well done, she will make sure you have another little treat before she says farewell, my sweet."

"Huh?"

A hand cupped his crotch through the sheet and the vampire grinned wolfishly at him. "A little treat for you, my pet," she replied in a husky murmur. "When I have picked the lock for the gleaming one."

One more fierce kiss was pressed to his lips and then, she was gone.

Ben fell back among the sheets, staring up at the ceiling. "My life is screwed up," he decided, covering his face with his hands.

***

"I think this is it," Minerva McGonagall said triumphantly.

Along with Spike, the vampire formerly known as William the Bloody, and Anya Emerson, formerly the Vengeance Demon Anyanka, the Deputy Head Mistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had been waking in all her spare hours trying to put together some higher defences for the school. 

Combining her and Spike's equally sharp minds had been a stroke of genius on the part of Dumbledore. Anya Emerson's knowledge of the ancient world and magics that had been around a millennium previously was an additional bonus that none of them could have counted on. 

Presently, although it was two hours until dawn, a time when everyone else in the school was probably sleeping, she was in the silent library with the blond vampire, poring over ancient texts.

They were seated at one of the long tables that ran down the centre of the library, books, pages, documents and sheets of parchment scattered in organised chaos around them as they worked in comparative silence, fingers stained with ink and dust.

A candelabra stood in the middle of the table, illuminating their work with soft, flickering light. Both of them were wearing thick, black winter robes to stave off the chill of the massive room, making them nigh invisible to passers-by in the darkness that surrounded them.

Professor Dumbledore had offered his assistance in any way possible and, thanks to him, they had been able to access documents and manuscripts from the ancient library in Diagon Alley.

Many of the pages they had been provided with from the Ministry of Magic had been written in languages long lost to the wizarding world, which had convinced Minerva that they bound to fail. 

However, she had not counted on Anya, who had picked up one of the sheets and started chuckling over it. It transpired to be a vengeance spell that a witch had written down after accidentally using it to transfigure her faithless husband into one of the sheep she had caught him tupping.

That was when they had realised that the thousand-year-old ex-demon could read the pages as easily as if it was the latest edition of the Daily Prophet, giving them an even bigger advantage than they had initially realised they had.

While the Head Master was letting them continue do the research, their team work better than anyone he had known, his own energies were directed into collecting the specific items they needed for the various protection charms.

Bill Weasley's arrival had provided them with the Amulet of Shiron, the crystal of Adelar and several smaller items, which - when combined in the spells they had uncovered - would provide a near impenetrable protective circle around the school.

Or, at least, that was the hope.

"What now?" Spike looked up from the notes he had been making on a hefty book at Minerva's exclamation.

"I think I've found the solution to that problem we were having with the Mendel incantation," she replied. "It's a rhyme from that book Anya translated for us and if it matches, we have our answer. After that, it's just a matter of rearranging the spell to suit Hogwarts, if I'm right."

"So, let the wiser one present see this wonder," he demanded patiently. Turning her script around to face him, she watched his eyes as he studied the notes, a look of weary relief and genuine appreciation crossing his lips. Looking at her, he sighed. "If I wasn't so bloody knackered, I would kiss you, Minnie."

"Please don't," she retorted, removing her glasses and rubbing her dust-dry eyes.

The vampire's half-grin was undercut by the exhaustion that was overcoming both of them rapidly. Not only had they been working most nights on solving the riddles in the ancient documents, but they had also been working through the days - Minerva in her classes and Spike on the notes they had already.

"I'm here now!"

Both of them looked towards the door at the voice of Anya, which sounded a little shriller and more tight than it usually did. A grin that looked forced was plastered on her face and she hurried towards them.

"What do I need to do to make sure I don't get killed or maimed?"

"We think we've found the solution, Demon-girl," Spike nodded towards the book that Minerva had placed her glasses on top of, the witch rubbing both hands over her face. "All thanks to you."

"Oh good," Anya sat down beside Minerva and looked down at the book. 

"What are you doing here, anyway, Anya?" The witch inquired curiously, studying the younger, yet much older woman's face. "I thought you were staying in with Mr Harris tonight."

Anya made a dismissive gesture with one hand, but didn't look up from the book. "I figured this was more important than spending time with a muggle who thinks magic is stupid and only wants to stay with me for regular orgasms."

Unnoticed by the ex-demon, the witch and the vampire exchanged looks, both guessing that Anya and Xander's already rocky relationship had just been taken down an even rockier road.

"So, demon girl, how about it?" Spike broke the awkward silence. " D'you think Minnie's little discovery makes sense?"

Anya looked up, giving him a frail, grateful smile, her brown eyes moist. "I'll have to check that I translated the rhyme right," she said, as she looked back down at the page. "I don't want anything to go wrong with the spell! Everyone'll yell at me if they get killed."

"If I get killed, I promise I won't yell at you," Spike said with all the sincerity he could muster, Minerva chuckling behind a hand. 

Anya gave him a half-exasperated look. "Obviously, because you're already dead."

Minerva couldn't help laughing.

***

"Mornin' Xander. What are ye doin' out here this early? An' in this weather?"

Sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree on the lip of the Forbidden Forest, Xander didn't look around at Hagrid, gazing into the woods. He seemed oblivious to the fact that it felt like it was about to rain, wearing nothing more than muggle clothes and the most basic of robes. "I guess I just needed to be on my own for a while," he said sadly, his face as clouded as the heavy sky overhead. "Anya and me...we broke up last night... or this morning...a few hours ago...whenever it was."

"Oh..." Shifting his feet awkwardly, Hagrid's brows beetled together as he fished for some kind of comfort for the young man. "I...well, I'm sorry, if tha' helps."

"I actually thought it would have happened a lot sooner than this," Xander said, sighing. "Ever since we came back to the magic world, I haven't been good enough. I didn't have enough money when we were in Sunnydale. Now, I don't have enough money or magic or abilities."

"Ye don' have to be magic or have lots o' money to be a decent feller, Xander," he said comfortingly. "Maybe ye were wrong for each other anyway?"

Crossing his arms over his chest, forearms resting on his knees, Xander exhaled a breath, which billowed out in a cloud of condensation. "Yeah, I guess so. I don't have much luck with keeping a woman."

"Ye don' have much luck? I'm seven'y year ol', Xander, an' I don' have a woman around, do I?" Slapping Xander on the back, he chuckled, a deep, booming sound. "If ye get to my age an' can say ye've only been involved once, I'll let yer say ye don' have much luck keeping a woman."

Turning, Xander smiled faintly. "You know, that could be real comforting or real depressing," he said.

"Aye..." Hagrid nodded, then smiled broadly. "Aye, yer right. But never mind about her, eh? Yer a decent muggle, Xander. Ye'll get yerself a nice little muggle girlfrien' before long."

Standing up, shivering a little Xander nodded. "That'd be kinda different from my record so far," he admitted. "So far, I've dated a cheerleader who went to LA to be an actress and ended up as a Seer, my best friend before she found out she was all witchy and an ex-vengeance demon. I guess a boring old muggle would be kinda nice..."

"Ye've dated a seer?"

"Well, she kinda wasn't a seer when I knew her, but yeah and I seriously screwed up that relationship by getting smoochies from my best friend. A seer, a witch and an ex-demon. Pretty good record, huh?" 

Hagrid laughed. "I've only ever had a half-giant Witch and lemme tell yer its not a good idea to argue with one o' them...she threw the table at my head, without magic, when we were arguin'."

"And I thought doing wacky spells to try and keep my girlfriend was bad," Xander grinned. Drawing a breath between his teeth, he shivered. "Could we kinda maybe go inside? Its kinda cold out here..."

"The kettle'll be boilin' by now. Do yer want ter try one o' my secret-recipe rock cakes?" Hagrid offered, as they started towards his hut. "I just made a new batch fer plugging up the draughts in me hut."

"Uh..." Xander looked up at the giant, then gave him a lop-sided grin. "Hey, why not? You only live once, right? Just..." Hagrid looked down at him questioningly. "If they had bits of skrewt or anything in them, you'd tell me, right?"

"O' course!" Hagrid boomed cheerfully. "An' don' you worry! Nothin' like that in the rock cakes. Just plenty o' rock!"

Shaking his head, Xander actually smiled for the first time that day. 

Hagrid beamed at him.

He liked the muggle who was so much like Harry and Ron combined into one rather lonely individual. The boy was almost always on his own, had been since the group had arrived, simply because he wasn't magical.

The half-giant knew that feeling well.

"Xander," he said, looking down at the young man. "Have yer ever been down ter Hogsmeade? There's a nice little pub down there and if yer like, we could go and get somethin' ter eat and yer can see some of the shops and maybe la'er, we can go fer a proper drink."

"Sure!" he replied. "But...what about the rock cakes?"

"Oh, don' you be worryin' about them," Hagrid replied cheerfully, eyes crinkling in a smile. "They'll keep and keep."

"Oh," Xander replied with a look of feigned enthusiasm, pulling the robes he had been given around his body. "Goodie."

As they walked away from the Forbidden Forest, neither of them noticed eyes glittering in the shadows of the trees, watching them depart.

***

"Hi Ron!"

"Morning Amy. Willow. Percy."

The third eldest of the Weasley clan made an incoherent squeaking sound in his throat, avoiding his brother's eyes as Ron sat down at the breakfast table, pretending to read the latest edition of the Daily Prophet.

"What's up with him?" Ron asked Amy in a stage-whisper, across the broad table, receiving a brilliant grin in return from the girl. "He seems even stiffer than usual."

"With Percy?" Amy's eyes flicked to him, then back to Ron. "Who knows?"

Beside Amy, Willow watched Percy from beneath her lashes. He was watching still watching the dark-haired young witch, although he did look convincingly like he was reading the article in his hand.

If this didn't complicate matters...

Sirius Black had already sought an audience with Willow, asking her far too many questions about Buffy, what she liked, where she liked to go and so on for it to bode well on the 'happy and straightforward' relationships scheme of things.

Ron had asked almost exactly the same questions at various stages over the summer, whenever he had been at home and his interest in the Slayer didn't seem to have dimmed in the least.

It wasn't so surprising, Willow mused, because Buffy was definitely of the cute and attractive type and a lot of guys did go for the blonde look. She was also smart, funny and strong, which both Sirius and Ron seemed to appreciate.

Buffy, for her part seemed oblivious, distracted by her concerns about her sister.

It was kinda worrying to see Buffy not interested in guys.

Normally, she was the one checking out all the cuties in the vicinity, but lately, even after the yummalicious Sirius had arrived, with everything going on, she had become a lot more work-focused.

Willow was quite honestly surprised that Buffy hadn't even noticed Sirius' interest.

Hell, she had briefly wondered what he would be like as boyfriend material when she had first met him. The guy was good-looking and he had a crazy sense of humour that could keep them all laughing for hours.

The only male that Buffy seemed to notice anymore - aside from Giles - was the one she called 'Snapey' and that was solely because she had taken to bugging the crap out of him, when she needed to distract herself from the worried about Dawn.

"Morning, kids," Willow heard Ron groan at Sirius' voice. "Mind if I sit here?"

"Feel free, Sirius," she said, scooting up a little, so the dark-haired wizard could sit down beside her. He glanced up at the High table, where Buffy and Hermione were talking over coffee.

"Great view you've got here, Will. And that Professor Summers...Buffy. She's a very likeable lady," Sirius said amiably, either ignoring or oblivious to the look that Ron sent in his direction. Or maybe not. "Very likeable indeed..."

Ron practically growled in annoyance, scowling at his breakfast.

Sighing, Willow made certain that she had her wand close at hand, as well as her own natural magics ready. Something told her that as long as Sirius and Ron were in the same building, it was going to be a long day.

***

Ben was bored.

More than bored.

He actually wanted Glory to take her form back.

Pacing back and forth across the room, as he had since hours before dawn, when his vampire lover had departed, he wandered towards the window, where rain was pelting against the glass, rattling down the panes.

His eyes drifted to the massive pair of doors that stood opposite the window and he wondered briefly if he would be able to force them open.

He had considered throwing himself out of the window, but looking down at the gravel-strewn yard, many feet below, he had decided against the idea, as he rather liked his body intact.

Given a choice between killing himself and remaining bonded to Glory, he knew he would rather be bonded to a psychotic demon goddess.

Yes, she reduced humans that she didn't know to little more than babbling husks, she took away the lives of nice, normal people, she ruined the existence of anyone who crossed her path, but better to be in conclave with her than in her way.

It was a shameful way to live.

He knew that he could defeat her with the simple - and noble in this case - act of suicide, but when it came down to it, he knew prized himself so much more than the hundreds or thousands of people she had destroyed.

No one - at least no one that he knew of - would be willing to give their life for the greater good.

No one would love so greatly that they would sacrifice themselves. 

Unfortunately, now, his bond with the Hell Goddess had left him imprisoned in a beautiful room, with food and water whenever he wanted it and nothing to do except watch the rain slashing against the windows.

His eyes drifted to the door again.

Well, there was no harm in trying to make an escape.

If Glory liked this place so much, she could always bring their body back. 

***

Both slightly merry after a pleasant morning in Hogsmeade, then a few hours in the Three Broomsticks, Hagrid and Xander had just arrived back on the grounds, having avoided the torrential downpour of icy rain a couple of hours earlier.

Xander had intended to make it back in time for Buffy's little display, but now he knew he was ready to find a nice bed to spend the rest of the rainy day sleeping. It was so dark already, even though it was barely three in the afternoon, that it felt like nighttime for the Californian boy. 

He didn't really mind missing the 'display' since he had seen it all before. Having had a lot to drink, lamented his broken relationship, then spent a couple of hours singing karaoke with Hagrid, he was content that his day had been full enough.

Apparently karaoke had just reached the wizarding world, bringing a whole selection of popular muggle songs, which otherwise might never have been heard, into wizard homes all across the country.

Xander was sure he had never seen anything quite as funny as magic karaoke. 

The principal was - as soon as you chose a song - you immediately were kitted out in the clothing and hairstyle of the person you were singing as, as well as receiving generous amounts of make-up based on the look of the artiste.

The only thing that didn't change was your voice.

Seeing Hagrid dolled up as Tina Turner was quite literally one of the most hilarious things Xander had ever seen, although the tight-fitting, very revealing leopard print number had made his stomach twist in ways he doubted were of the good.

Although, had he been able to get to a mirror, he was pretty sure that he looked just as bizarre in his Elvis Presley look, when he had vainly attempted to sing 'Heartbreak Hotel' as a reflection on how he was feeling.

It had been a choice of that song or 'I will always love you' and, while he had been tempted to see how they would magically give him a 'pair' to rival Dolly Parton, he thought it was safer to actually avoid drag.

Now, though, the sky was dark above them, still billowing with heavy rainclouds that had yet to shed their load, the ground damp and slippery beneath their feet, as they stumbled back towards the hut on the edge of the forest. 

"Uh, Hagrid," Xander's voice was a little slurred, as was his vision. "I know that I had kinda a lot of firewhisky, but....isn't that a giant spider sitting right behind your house?"

With Hagrid leaning rather heavily on his shoulder, he staggered to a halt and pointed at the rain-sheened mass behind Hagrid's hut. Either the hut had grown legs or Aragog was paying a visit.

Hagrid squinted at the house, then his face split in a broad smile. "Blimey, Xander, I would never 'ave notice 'im sittin' there," He slapped Xander on the back. "'E was always good at playin' 'ide and seek, was Aragog!"

Xander, after regaining his footing having been almost knocked off his feet by the pat on the back, looked up at Hagrid in disbelief.

Never would have noticed...

An enormous spider the size of an elephant was sitting behind his house, with hairy legs as thick as Xander's own and twice the length of Xander's body sticking out in all directions, and he wouldn't have noticed it...

Although, admittedly, Hagrid had had a little more to drink.

"Does Aragog come out of the forest often?" he asked, quickly interrupting Hagrid's rambling reminiscing about how cute Aragog had been when he was just a baby, when ''e were still big enough ter fit in me pocket'.

Hagrid paused and scratched his beard thoughtfully. "Now, tha's odd, tha' is," he remarked. "'E don' ever come out 'ere. 'E don' like bein' seen. 'E usually sen's one of 'is babies or summat ter get me ter go ter 'im."

"The fuzzy effects of the fire-whisky were rapidly fading as Xander looked from his giant friend to the spider on the other side of the house.

"So he only comes here if it's important?"

"Not even then," Hagrid murmured, half to himself. "I think I 'ad better 'ave a word or two with him, ter see what's going on."

***

"You're sure this is okay, Professor?"

Albus Dumbledore beamed at the Slayer. "I'm positive, Miss Summers," he replied as he lead her down the hallway, towards the Great Hall. "After all, I have provided you with challenges to test you and I do appreciate observing your skills."

Buffy smiled broadly.

When the Head Master had said he would provide her with a training area like Giles had in the back room of The Magic Box, in Sunnydale, she had been overjoyed. With all the skills she had developed over five years as Slayer, she didn't want to grow lax because she was a teacher, especially with the growing threat of Glory.

"Where is it?" she asked for the tenth time as they descended another staircase.

"You will have to wait and see, Professor Summers," he chastised with amusement, his eyes twinkling. "And I hope you don't mind that I have allowed friends and family of Miss Weasley to observe, from a safe, unseen vantage point. They have heard about your skill, but none have been privileged enough to witness it."

"An audience? That'll be kinda weird and...kinda embarrassing."

"All you need know is that you and they are quite safe," Dumbledore said jovially, motioning towards the doors of the Great Hall. "Everything you see is a physical illusion for you to use. The creatures you fight shall be charmed objects and shall return to their native state as soon as you 'defeat' them." 

"And it's in the Great Hall?" Buffy's eyes widened. "That's like the biggest hall in the whole school."

Dumbledore smiled. "You did request a challenge and I hope to have provided one for you," He reached into the deep pockets of his robes, then withdrew his hand and a black blindfold. "If you would like..."

A wary look crossed the Slayer's face. "Do I get weapons before I get in? Or do I wait before the fighting starts?"

"Do you trust me, Professor Summers?"

"Not really, no," she replied, taking the blindfold and placing it across her eyes as she said it. Dumbledore chuckled. Tying the straps behind her head, she allowed the Head Master to lead her towards the door. "Okay...lemme in."

She heard the loud squeal of the doors swinging open, the scent of a damp, musty graveyard washing over her. A shiver of eager anticipation prickled down her spine and she felt Dumbledore's hand on her arm, directing her forward.

The ground felt soft beneath her feet, a little damp as well, the scent that of a cool California night. She could feel it making soft squishy noises as she stepped. Ho boy! The Head Master really wanted to give her a good challenge!

"There are weapons to your right and I will remind you again that you are in no danger in this room," Dumbledore's voice was soft and reassuring in her ear. "Should you wish to stop, simply call out 'stop' and the illusions will dissipate." 

"Can any of the stuff in here hurt me?" she asked carefully.

"You are familiar with the film called Star Wars?" She nodded. "You recall Luke Skywalker's training?"

"You tell me I'm gonna see me in a Darth Vader suit and I'm outta here!"

"Perhaps earlier training, then," Dumbledore laughed. "When he is learning to use the lightsaber - like the remote in the film, the illusions here will be able to sting, but they will not cause serious harm to you."

"Okay," She nodded again. "Let 'em at me."

There was a rustling of robes. "Count to ten slowly, then remove the blindfold and the illusions will commence."

Bouncing on her toes in eager anticipation, Buffy counted to ten. She could hear the movement of the Head master as he took himself out of range of danger and as she reached ten, she raised a hand and jerked aside the blindfold.

The setting momentarily took her breath away, the ground resembling one of the cemeteries of Sunnydale to such an extent that she could almost believe that she was back in the town.

She didn't have much time to speculate, though, as a massive white-skinned demon that looked vaguely familiar leapt out of the bushes to her left, charging towards her at full speed. Dropping onto her back, her feet connected with it's stomach and she flipped it, leaping onto her feet again.

Her eyes darted around and she spotted the weapons Dumbledore had mentioned, a few different throwing knives scattered between the gravestones, as well as some stakes, an axe lodged in the trunk of a tree.

Breaking into a run, she managed to grab the axe, yanking it free from the trunk, a moment before her demon attacker caught up with her, a swift swing of the axe connecting with the creature's neck, its head and body parting company.

"I asked for a challenge!" she yelled to the unseen Dumbledore and was sure she heard a distant chuckle.

As if they had been conjured out of thin air, a triad of vampires - armed with swords and maces - ran at her. She recognised them as replicas of 'The Three' and couldn't help laughing a little at the thought of how unoriginal that name was.

Back-flipping over a moss-covered gravestone, the granite cold against her palms, she slipped a foot under a sword and kicked it up into her waiting hand and taking the head off one of the three before they even realised she was armed.

The other two rapidly followed suite and Buffy shook her hair back from her face with a broad grin, as she straightened up, after staking the third, over the top of a grave at her feet.

An arm locked around her neck.

That was more like it!

Using the axe and sword, she managed to break free of the massive arm, recognising it's owner as one of the trio of spiny demons who had unsuccessfully tried to open the Hellmouth only the year before.

Everything she was facing was coming from her memory, that much she knew. 

The day before, Dumbledore had offered her a chance to fill a pensieve - some kind of memory...thingie - with images of the demons and creatures she had fought on a regular basis, to give them a more closer approximation of what she had to fight.

She had poured her memories of the fights in and watched in fascination and a little shock the way she fought them in the rippling surface. 

She had never realised there were quite so many before or how big a lot of them were compared to her or how incredible her fighting looked. To her, it was simply a job, but watching it played back, it looked like she had it down to an art.

With a powerful sweep of her axe, she caught the demon hard on it's right shoulder, sending it crashing to it's knees in front of her, then rapidly thrust her sword deep into it's chest cavity.

Several more demons followed the same line, attacking and being destroyed in rapid succession. Buffy could feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins in a dizzying heady rush. 

It had been far too long since she had been able to challenge herself physically like this and she was back in her element now.

The fact that she could not depend on her slayer senses to tell her where the next attack would come from made it even more of a challenge, forcing her to use her eyes and ears more.

Panting a little, she paused to take in her location, standing on top of one of the low crypts that had been added beside a large clump of bushes. Her sword was gripped in her left hand, the axe in her right and a stake was in her belt.

So far, she had used every weapon available, as well as manipulating the terrain, the open graves, gravestones and patches of sparse shrubbery that might have served as hindrances being used to her benefit.

A tingle from her right side made her whip around, ducking under the attack of a shrieking creature she didn't recognise. It vaguely resembled an oversized, almost six-foot long, and very bald cat with bat-like ears and claws that lashed at her as it soared over her.

A gasp of pain escaped the Slayer, radiating through her back and she felt damp warmth spreading across her back.

"Stop!" she called out, straightening up.

The cat-creature attacked again, Buffy managing to jerk her sword up to block it.

"Buffy!" Giles' raised voice reached her over the hoarse caterwauling of the demon cat. She saw him running out of nowhere, also armed. "Something has broken into the room! This isn't an illusion anymore!"

Slayer-sense kicked in instantly and she swung around, raising her axe as the demon charged her again.

Slashing it across the head, she kicked out hard, catching it across the ribs, and sent it hurtling off the top of the crypt, jumping down after it and bringing her axe down towards the top of it's large skull. 

The creature was fast, though, jerking out of the way and launching itself at her, its fangs locking around her ankle.

With a yell of pain, Buffy stabbed down through the demon's face, her other foot slamming down on it's ribs to hold it still as she slammed the axe down on it's neck, severing head from body.

Behind her, she could hear the sounds of Giles and a few of the other wizards also at battle with invaders. Using the sword to lever the demon's jaws open, blood spilling down her torn ankle, she turned and ran as fast as she could towards them.

Whatever the demons were, she had never seen anything vaguely like them before.

There were claws, some mucus, whip-like tails, scales, horns, prongs, many arms and legs that seemed to be doing everything at once, but especially snatching at wands before the owners had a chance to use them.

Lunging into the fray, avoiding Dumbledore, Giles, the two eldest Weasleys and Sirius, Buffy swung the axe, cleaving one of the demon's heads down the middle, while - behind her - another demon was greeted by her foot and sent soaring across the room.

With help from the wizards, the pack of at least a dozen demons were rapidly taken care of, the small knot of humans standing in the centre of the redecorated Great Hall, splattered with blood and goo.

Leaning heavily on the axe she still held, Buffy was panting heavily. "How the hell did they get in here?" she asked Dumbledore breathlessly. "I thought you said this place was protected."

Dumbledore looked far older than she remembered him looking as he surveyed the hall and the demon bodies strewn on the ground. "It appears that Glory is stronger than we anticipated," he replied. 

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that I'm going to help McGonagall, Spike and Anya to get that ancient magical protection up and running," Giles replied for the Head master. "We're going to need it right away."

"That would be wise, Rupert," Dumbledore agreed.

"Go, Giles," Buffy added. "We'll be okay here."

Giles gave Buffy a look, but she waved him away and he nodded, departing, leaving the Slayer standing unsteadily on her bleeding limb.

"Are you all right, Buffy?" Dumbledore asked with clear concern, stabilising her with one hand.

She grinned faintly. "I've been better," she replied, limping over to sit on one of the magically-created gravestones and wincing. "Gimme a second to get my breath back, then we can go to the medical wing."

Leaning forward, she looked down at her ankle. 

The demon's fangs had torn right through the leather of her black boots and she felt a whine of annoyance rise in her throat. They were her favourite boots and now, they were all torn to pieces.

"You're bleeding!"

Looking from her ruined boots, Buffy found Sirius kneeling in front of her. He gently lifted her foot and she yelled in pain. "Hey! Stop! Don't start poking it! You're making it worse!"

"Oh! Sorry!" Abashed, he dropped the foot instantly and she released an ear-splitting shout of agony as her torn ankle smacked against the side of the gravestone. "Oh crap! Sorry, Buffy!"

Grimacing, she glared at him. Pushing herself back onto her feet, wobbling unsteadily, she pointed at him. "Just...don't touch anything, okay? I can deal with this kinda thing, except when wannabe first aiders start making things worse."

Sirius backed off immediately, looking very red in the face.

Dumbledore shook his head in mild amusement, approaching and offering Buffy an arm to lean on. "You really are the most surprising of women, Professor Summers. I have never seen anyone with the ability to make Sirius Black blush."

The Slayer's glare abated somewhat and she leaned heavily on Dumbledore's arm, her face a myriad of pain. "I do kinda get cranky when some evil demon thing eats my favourite boots," she admitted, taking a limping step alongside the Head Master.

"That is why you were angered by Sirius? Not because your ankle is in pain?"

"Well," Wincing with every step, she grit her teeth. "Yeah, it hurts, but the boots were my favourites...a hundred dollars...and that was in a sale...if Glory shows up, I'm _so_ kicking her ass for sending those demons..."

The Head Master looked at her, partially amused by her attitude, partially worried about her injuries. "Would you like me to help you get to the medical wing, Buffy? I could have a stretcher take you..."

"Nuh-uh," Buffy replied firmly, although she had to reluctantly admit that her vision seemed to be drifting in and out of clarity. "Its just a demon-bite. No biggie. I've had way worse than this before. The more I walk and use it, the more quickly I heal."

"What about your back?"

"My...back? What about my back?" That was when the numb tingling in her back was brought to her attention and she twisted one hand up behind her back to touch the back of her pale blue sweater. "Dammit! Not the sweater too!"

"And you are bleeding rather...copiously," Dumbledore added, worry visible in his blue eyes.

"I am? Crap..." Sighing, the Slayer ran her free hand through her hair. "Okay, get me to the medical wing, Professor."

***

Coming to yet another junction in the massive house, Ben looked left and right. He couldn't help feeling that he had passed this particular way before and it was starting to get a bit creepy.

It felt like he was being watched by unseen eyes.

The whole massive house felt like it was alive with some malevolent force, a force that knew what he was and what he carried in him. And, he realised, with a shudder, the house liked what it saw within him.

Glory and this house...

It was frightening to think an inanimate building could be so full of dark power that it recognised a Hell Goddess in her host's form.

He had managed to break out of his room which was - fortunately - not locked by magic, using bits and pieces that he had found lying around the room, as well as breaking several expensive-looking pieces of furniture. 

However, he had yet to find the exit.

The halls were dim, lampless. The only illumination he had were the rectangular panels of dull daylight that added grey patches to the blackness of the halls, through the windows set high in the walls.

He had been walking for what felt like hours, without seeming to get anywhere.

He had passed several doors, looking into the rooms on the other side, but none of them seemed to lead to a staircase that would allow him to escape the mansion that had been his prison for days.

"I don't see why we should have to..."

Voices!

Thank you God! 

Voices meant that there were other people nearby and other people meant he could get directions and directions meant he could get the hell out of here without anything worse happening to him.

Following them, he rounded another corner and saw a light slanting out through and open door.

Peering in, he saw a striking blonde woman, in her late thirties, perhaps early forties, sitting in a window box. She was clad in a dove-grey set of robes and was gazing out the window at the dark skies.

Behind her, an equally fair-haired young man was pacing angrily back and forth across the floor of the room. His pointed face was flushed with what could only be anger, an ugly scowl twisting his features.

"Uh...excuse me?" Ben cleared his throat hesitantly. "Hi..."

Both of the occupants of the room turned sharply, staring at him, the young man pointing a narrow stick of wood at him. "Who the hell are you and how the hell did you get into our home?"

"Draco," the woman sighed, standing up. "That's hardly polite."

Ben privately agreed with her, thinking the boy must be slightly mad to wave a stick at random strangers. "I...I woke up in a bedroom here a few days ago..." Yes, this was the most coherent response he could come up with. "With a vampire... I don't know how I got here." 

"Do you know a woman named Glory?" the boy demanded angrily.

"Uh...you could say that...why?"

"Draco..."

"I want you to tell that gold-digging slut to get out of our home and away from my father!" Ah, so this is why the little ass was in a bad mood. Daddy was screwing around with a blonde goddess. "I want you to tell her go back to whatever hellhole it was she came from."

He really was closer than he knew, the boy.

"Draco Malfoy!" the woman snapped angrily. "Did I raise you to behave this way?"

The boy gave Ben a venomous look, then turned to his mother. "Mother, I apologise, but I feel I have every right to want that filthy whore out of our lives. She is probably after father for wealth and status."

Unfortunately, what the blond youth was saying was being relayed straight back to Glory and Ben staggered back a step. She really wasn't amused by the cocky little jerk, that was for sure.

"I-I can't tell her what to do."

"Got you by the balls as well, eh?"

Ben shuddered as he felt Glory stirring from her dormant position in the back of his consciousness, her irritation rising. "Look, buddy, just tell me how I get outta this place! It'll be better for all of us if I'm gone."

"And you'll take your whore with you?" the boy sneered.

Ben would have screamed a warning, but Glory surged to the fore and Ben was pushed back in her consciousness, his body bursting out into her one, leaving him as a helpless observer as she grabbed the boy by the throat and slammed him back against the wall.

"You know, puddin'," she cooed. "That was real rude of you."

Malfoy was gagging and clawing at her wrist, the blonde woman running forward.

"Please!" she grasped at Glory's arm in desperation, her eyes wild and expression writ with panic. "Let him go! You're choking him!"

Glory looked the woman up and down. "So you'd be Lucius' wife, huh? Quite the stallion, ain't he?" she grinned lewdly, then looked back at Draco. "Pity this arrogant little jerk doesn't behave like his daddy-oh."

Her other hand rose and she trailed her fingertips down the choking youth's brow.

"You never know, sweetie," she sighed dreamily. "One day I might just suck you dry like a sponge...one day when your daddy sees through you like I do." She smiled coldly and dropped the youth to the floor, gagging and breathless, his face scarlet. The woman knelt and gathered him in her arms fearfully. "You might wanna teach your little boy some manners."

Ben wished he could force his way back out and apologise to the sobbing woman, who was clinging to her nearly unconscious son, but he couldn't and Glory just stood there, smirking as Draco gasped for breath in his mother's arms.

***

"Professor!"

Snape wanted to smack his head down on the desk in front of him, wondering how another pupil - aside from Summers Junior - had been able to find where his private chambers were.

"Professor Snape!" Whoever it was, it wasn't one of the younger pupils. Sixth or seventh year at least and they were knocking on the portrait with a little too much vigour for his liking. He could hear the portrait complaining loudly.

Rising from his desk and the scrolls he was marking, he approached the painting. He had stayed in his chambers tonight for several reasons: Sirius Black was still in the castle; Buffy Summers was still in the castle and was doing a display of her skills; he wanted to be able to turn down one of Dumbledore's invitations for once; and, most importantly, he needed to reaffirm his standing as an anti-people person.

"_OPEN_!" He heard the feminine voice cry out and, much to his shock, the portrait swung outwards.

Well, if that wasn't classed as an invasion of privacy...

And since when had someone been able to open the doors of the private chambers without a password?

A frenzied-looking red-haired young woman crashed straight into him as he stepped into the doorway and he looked down to find Willow Weasley staring wildly up at him, a trickle of blood running from her nose, her eyes slightly glassy. 

"Thank God," she squeaked pitifully.

"Weasley, what is the meaning of this?" he demanded, catching her by the elbows as she staggered, almost falling, her eyes unfocused. 

She had drawn on her inner powers, powers that most of the teachers only spoke in hushed whispers about. She must have done. Nothing else could leave her looking so sapped and disorientated.

"Weasley?"

"I...I...had to..." She sagged against him and Snape groaned in disbelief. This was just bloody typical. Lifting her quickly, he carried her to the bed and deposited her on it, then hurried to his shelves, seeking out a specific potion.

Returning to her side, he opened her lips and forced the peppery contents of a small vial down her throat.

It took effect almost instantly, the girl sitting up, coughing and choking.

"So, Weasley," Snape snapped, hauling her to her feet. While the potion was ideal for reviving people, if she didn't start moving on her own, she was liable to faint again. "May I know why you felt you had the right to invade my chambers?"

"Dumbledore sent me to get you," she replied, swaying, her shaking hands spread on his chest as she appeared to try to regain her balance. "We need some kinda potion, sanguine potion...right now..."

Sanguine potion?

That potion was only ever used to replace blood that had been lost in vast quantities and was seldom required in Hogwarts, so seldom that he hadn't brewed any in two months. That meant that the last batch he had sent to Pomfrey would be out of date.

Fortunately, it was quick to brew in cases of emergency, usually taking fifteen minutes as long as all the components were readily at hand.

Still gripping Weasley firmly by one elbow, he dragged her out of the room and down the hallway, lit only by torches, towards the dungeons. "What happened?" he asked tersely, their footsteps loud in the darkened halls.

"Buffy...she was doing her thing..." Weasley's coherence was rapidly returning and he flashed a look down at her. Her eyes were coming back into focus. "Some demon things got into the Great Hall and she got hurt."

"Demons? In the school? Don't be absurd!"

"Hello!" Weasley snapped back in the same tone of voice, jerking her elbow free of his hand. "Saw 'em all with my own two eyes! There were demons! Big, ugly, scaly, clawy, icky, bitey drooly demons!" 

Wonderful gift for visuals, this girl had. However, something she had said caught his attention. He didn't know why, but he felt...something, although he wasn't certain quite what, when he asked, "And Summers was bleeding?"

"Wherein lies the need for sanguine potion for Madam Pomfrey," Weasley replied, glaring at him, practically jogging to keep up with his longer strides. "Do you have kinda... lying around?"

"Lying around?" Snape snorted in disgust. "Have you no respect for the patience and skill that goes into making a substance such as the sanguine potion, Weasley? It is not something one would make on a random whim and have, as you so eloquently put it, lying around. It takes deftness, patience, care..."

"So you can make all kindsa weird magic potions. So you're all skilful and creepy and uber-smart and sneaky and everything," Weasley returned at him bitterly. She really was a fiery little creature when she was angry. It was like having an irritated pixie flitting around him. Harmless and quazi-bitchy, but very amusing. "Big whoop for you! Have you got any sanguine stuff lying around?"

Black eyes flashed at her and he was smugly pleased to notice her recoil at his dark glare. So she was still afraid of him. That was a plus. "No, Weasley," he replied. "We have no potion left, which - I'm afraid - is why we are going to the laboratories."

"But Buffy!"

"I am acutely aware that Summers is in a perilous situation, little girl," he snapped, never breaking pace. "However, having you panic will do very little to aid us - or her - at this precise moment, so if you would be kind enough to keep your head and try not to lose control of your abilities again, as great a challenge as it may be." 

Weasley stared at him. Running along to keep up with him, she seemed to gather her thoughts and then asked, "What do we do?"

"We brew a fresh batch of potion, obviously."

"We?"

Snape raised his dark eyes ceilingwards, exhaling a breath between his teeth. "Yes, Weasley," he replied, opening the classroom door with a gesture of his wand. The candles flared to life. "We, together, will produce a potion to aid your friend."

"But you..."

"Weasley," he said calmly, various implements flying out of the cupboards with a rapid succession of wand gestures. "If you intend to babble, I will be forced...no, I will take pleasure in putting a silencing spell on you."

Weasley flashed a glare at him that was really quite impressive. "So, what do you want me to do?"

"I only have one set of hands," he said, already bent over a large cauldron, which was settled over a large ring of flame on the floor of the dark dungeon. He was adding fluids from various vials that he had summoned from the cupboards. "I shall work on the potion. You will prepare the nightstar roots, gilded moth wings and the nettlebalm for the latter stages."

"You know Buffy'll wanna kill you if she knew what was in this, right?" Weasley said, more to herself than to the Potions Professor, before she started working on her parts of the potion.

That particular thought put a song in Snape's heart and a nasty grin on his face, as they worked.

***

"Professor Dumbledore, sir!"

Hagrid stopped short, Xander ploughing into his back, on entry to the large round office at the sight of the grim faces of several members of staff, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Ron, Sirius Black, Harry and Ginny Potter all blocking his path towards the Head Master's desk.

"What is it, Hagrid?" Dumbledore said, the group parting and allowing him through.

"Aragog, sir," Hagrid blurted out. "'E was at me 'ouse, in a right state, sir! Came right outta the forest to find me an' tell me! They 'ad someone go inter their 'ollow, the spiders 'ave! A lot of someones an' Aragog said they could'n see who it was, sir, an' 'e said," A grief-stricken look crossed Hagrid's face at the thought of his arachnid friend's anguish. "'Is children, sir...they killed hundreds of 'is children! Aragog never did nothin' to 'arm anyone and they killed 'is children an' gran'children!"

Ron made some kind of choking sound and Harry immediately flashed a look at him, which made Ron fall silent.

"So they did come through the Forbidden Forest, then," Dumbledore said quietly, half to himself. "I suppose they were masked by some kind of darker magic than that we are familiar with until she deemed fit to reveal them."

"Who did what, sir?" Hagrid asked, looking and feeling rather flummoxed. 

Blue eyes lifted to him and the giant could see the weariness in the Head Master's expression. "I'm afraid there has been a successful attack within the school and we can only assume that Glory is behind it."

"Whoa! Whoa! What do you mean 'attack'?" Xander demanded, stepping around Hagrid, his eyes narrowed. "Are Buffy, Wills and Dawnie okay? And Anya? Is Anya okay too?"

Dumbledore met the youth's worried gaze calmly, a calm that had been practised through Voldemort's reign. "Miss Summers was forced to fight a group of demons and received several injuries," He raised a hand to silence Xander. "She is being treated in the medical wing at present and will be fine. No one else was harmed."

"That li'l girl was forced ter fight demons? Professor Dumbledore, sir! That isn' ri'!" Hagrid exclaimed. Looks were exchanged among the Weasleys and Xander glanced up at him. Clearly, there was something he hadn't been told. "She's jus' a li'l girl! She can' figh' demons, Professor Dumbledore, sir!"

The Head Master gave him a passive smile. "You would be quite surprise, Hagrid," he said. "To learn what Professor Summers is capable of. I believe it is safe to say that she is a good deal stronger than she looks."

"Good thing too," Sirius Black added. "If it had been one of us against those...things, I don't think we'd have walked away like Buffy did."

"Or humiliated you like Buffy did," Ron added with a touch of glee. Hagrid saw a dark look flash from Sirius to Ron, which was odd in itself, as they had always got on so well before.

Dumbledore raised a hand before Sirius could speak again. "Now, now," he said, although there was an unmistakable amused glint in his eyes. "I trust you all have taken your new tasks to heart?" Nods went around the room. "We will see you back here as soon as you are able."

"Tasks? What's going on?" Xander was the one to ask Hagrid's question.

As the Weasleys, the Potters and Sirius filed out of the office, Charlie paused beside Xander. "We have to get things ready, in case this demon...person attacks. We're the cavalry, so we've all got to go and prepare."

"Right," Xander acknowledged.

Hagrid recognised the tone in his voice. It was the tone of voice that Harry had used the moment that he realised that he was no longer safe, even at Hogwarts, when You-Know-Who had returned.

One massive hand came down on Xander's shoulder. "It'll be all righ', Xander," he said, his deep booming voice reduced to a low rumble. "Ye've got Dumbledore on yer side, as well as all of Hogwarts and yer friends. Everything's goin' ter be fine."

"Yeah..." Xander sighed. "Yeah, you're probably right."

Hagrid managed to smile down at him, wishing he was as convinced as he sounded.

***

"You really ought to stay still!"

"I'm all right!" Buffy sat up sharply to prove a point and her hand immediately went to her forehead, a groan escaping her. "Okay, maybe not quite that good..."

Giles immediately pushed the Slayer back down on the bed in the medical wing, his green eyes shadowed with worry. "Buffy, please, you have to get some rest and allow the potion to work its way fully into your system."

"You know how bad I am at the staying-still thing," Buffy pouted up at him, shuffling up to lean against the pillows in more of a sitting position.

The bed was curtained off and Giles was the only one present. The rest of the wing had been cleared almost an hour earlier by the rather aggravated Madam Pomfrey after all the Weasleys and Buffy's friends had piled into the long ward.

The only visitors since then had been Snape, to provide sanguine potion and a brief disdainful look before sweeping off again, Dawn - with Duncan allegedly for moral support - and Willow.

Willow had announced that she would make sure that Dawn was safe for the night, only for Dawn to rebelliously announce that she had a free room in the Gryffindor dorms that she wanted to use.

Giles had been forced to separate the two, Buffy in no condition to do it herself. It had been before the freshly-concocted sanguine potion had started to work and she was tired, pale and dizzy.

Dawn had won her side of the argument and looked smug about it, but Willow - taken aside by Giles - was told to make sure that the brunette teenager did end up in her room in Gryffindor tower and no one else's. 

Especially a certain Scottish boy, who appeared very interested in the brunette.

They had departed, leaving Buffy drifting in and out of sleep and a series of waking dreams, which had been unnerving and surreal. Many of them featured a tall, slender, faceless shadow with glowing gold eyes, flitting through the halls of Hogwarts, always just out of her reach. 

She had woken, only moments earlier, feeling a lot better, to find Giles sitting by her bedside. He had watched over her, he said, as her lost blood was gradually topped up with the dark red potion, provided by Snape.

"I am more than aware what a bad patient you are," Giles admitted, his expression growing serious. "But it would be much wiser if you did rest. You're going to need your strength more than ever now."

Buffy's eyes settled on his face. "Things are that bad, huh?"

"You just needed the magical equivalent of a blood transfusion, Buffy," he replied gravely. "That alone should tell you how serious this situation has become."

"Dawn...where is she?"

Looking around to check that Madam Pomfrey wasn't anywhere nearby, Giles slid a hand into his pocket and withdrew a tattered-looking piece of parchment, laying it on the table. "Willow gave me this, courtesy of Harry."

"A dirty piece of paper?" Buffy looked from it to him, trying to cover a mischievous smile. "Well, if that's the kinda thing you like, that's Christmas taken care of..."

"Buffy..."

"All right, all right," she laughed. "What's the bit of paper for?"

Tapping it with his wand, Giles muttered "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

"Giles, its paper. It doesn't hear...hey! Neat! There's writing!"

Rising to sit on the bed beside her, he held the scrap of parchment between them and let her watch as a map of Hogwarts fanned out before their eyes, tiny dots moving here and there.

"What is this thing?" she asked in awe, laughing as she spotted the dots that bore her own name and Giles', in the medical wing on the map. Nearby, Madam Pomfrey was apparently bustling around in a store room.

"The Marauders' Map," Giles explained with a faint smile. "When Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and James Potter, Harry's father, attended Hogwarts, they were known to each other as the Marauders and were - by all accounts - a band of troublemakers. They made it their duty to find out everything they could about the school and poured all their knowledge into this map, for future generations of school-rule-breakers."

"How...how does it work?"

"Purely by magic," Giles answered. "I can't imagine how they came up with it, but it bears the mark of genius." He tapped the map with his wand again and muttered under his breath, "The tower."

The lines on the map shifted rapidly, forming a cross-section of what was clearly recognisable as Gryffindor Tower. Giles tapped one of the levels with the wand, the lines changing again to reveal an overhead floor-plan of the level.

"There's Dawn," he said, pointing to a dot on the small couch-shaped block in front of the main fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. "And there," He pointed to another dot by the table behind her. "Is Mr. Cameron."

"He's a sweet kid," Buffy remarked thoughtfully. "But if he touches her, I'll break both his legs. And," she added as an afterthought. "His arms."

"I'm sure Willow and Hermione will make certain that young Mr Cameron behaves in an appropriate manner," Giles chuckled, raising the map to his eyes and looking for the dots of the two witches. "Oh..."

"What is it?" Buffy demanded. "Was someone doing something?"

Giles shook his head. "Mischief managed," he said hastily, wiping the map. "There was nothing happening. Willow and Hermione are close enough to make sure that no harm comes to Dawn."

Although, he knew, trying to smother a grin at the thought, there could only be one thing that the two witches were doing to make their identity dots on the Marauders map overlap like that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN: Coming in the next chapter - Dawn decides to test her polyjuice potion with rather insane results, Giles has a bit of an accident, Buffy touches something she shouldn't have and ends up in a rather sticky situation, Snape is forced to deal with someone he would rather not deal and lots more in chapter 42 of The Eighth Weasley. 


	42. Funky Soup

FUNKY SOUP

Notes: This chapter had a completely different idea behind it, then I started writing something in the previous chapter and it kind of...clicked and I ended myself laughing at the thought of it, so it became this chapter.

Add it to the original idea and you have a very big, very... strange chapter. Pity many of the characters, that's all I'm saying.

________________________

"Hey, Giles!"

Looking up from the scrolls he was marking, Giles smiled broadly at the two young witches, who had just entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. "Good evening, Willow, Hermione."

The room was dark except for the area surrounding the massive teacher's desk, where Giles was sitting. A large, six-foot-tall brass candelabra with a dozen white candles was standing a short way behind him, casting a warming glow over him, a lamp on the desk illuminating the work.

"Hello, Mr. Giles. We aren't disturbing you, are we?" Hermione asked, as she and Willow paused at the far end of the classroom. "I mean, if you're busy, we could come back later."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Hermione!" Giles motioned them forward, smiling. "To be honest, I would be grateful for a breather."

"Whatcha workin' on?" 

Nodding to the pile of scrolls to his right, the former Watcher grimaced. "I promised Buffy that I would have my share of the grading done before the Christmas holidays come around."

"Why isn't she marking 'em?"

Giles gave the red-haired witch a 'Oh, come on' look. "She has them marked and re-marked her essays on the creatures already, Willow," he answered flatly. "She enjoys working with the children here far too much and she always likes to get their graded work back to them as quickly as she possibly can. It also means that I am left to wade through their attempts at describing how to defeat dark creatures."

"Buffy the teacher..." Willow shook her head, grinning slightly, as they reached the desk where Giles was sitting. "I dunno why, but it still sounds way wiggy."

The former watcher removed his glasses, rubbing them on his tie. "Ah, yes, it does sound rather...un-Buffy-like, doesn't it?" Swinging off the high chair, he stretched out his legs. "So what can I do for you two ladies?"

"We didn't have anything to do since it's almost the end of term and we noticed you weren't at dinner again," Hermione replied, shrugging. "We were a little curious, as you've been missing quite a few meals lately."

Giles chuckled. "Concern? For me? I am very touched, but you needn't worry about me going hungry," He nodded down to the side of his desk, where a small cauldron was bubbling over a ball of fire. "I have grown rather adept at cooking and since I was foolish enough to leave my marking to the last moment, I have been using every minute I have available to work on it."

"Y'know," Willow grinned at him. "I never thought I'd ever see a day when Buffy was more organised than you were." 

Giles tried to look indignant. "Well, I-I-I have been rather busy, with spells and with her training and one thing and another." Both witches folded their arms and gave him identical, knowing looks. "What?"

"Well, who else has been doing Buffy's training?" Hermione remarked dryly. "Let me think about this...could it possibly be Buffy? And she still manages to find time to do her class work, her grading and annoy Severus." 

"Not so much, though," Willow added pensively. "She's was way worried about Dawnie after the whole demony-invasion thing last month and she's been working a lot in their room at night. Professor Snape has been way too busy as well."

"No doubt trying to keep ahead of me in the workload and I do believe people have warned her to stay away from Severus prior to the Christmas break, as he is likely to be in the same infernal grading boat as us," Giles grumbled good-naturedly, picking up the "Kiss the librarian" mug that was standing on the desk and bending to ladle some vegetable soup into it out of the cauldron. 

Willow giggled. "Professor Snape would use your insides for potions if he saw you doing that."

"Doing what?" Giles inquired.

"Using a cauldron for making something apart from potions," she replied, her green eyes crinkling with amusement. "He got uber cranky with me when I asked him if he had any potions just lying around."

"Willow, Severus tends to be rather...er...uber-cranky most of the time, in case you had forgotten," the middle-aged man replied, sitting back down on the stool. "And I'll have you know I do sometimes make potions, when I'm not..." His eyes went to the pile of scrolls and he shuddered. "Now, I have been forced to recall - in detail - why I chose to be a librarian and not a teacher at Sunnydale High."

Hermione smirked. "Why do you think the muggle-studies pre-Christmas essays are set to be handed in on the last day of term?" she said. "It gives me nearly a month to work on them."

"Nobody likes a smart arse, Granger," Giles retorted affably, studying the lumps of carrot floating in his soup. "Especially when that smart arse is getting shagged by a certain red-haired witch in the not to distant vicinity."

"Eeep!"

Hermione, while not quite as red as Willow, gaped at him. "How...?"

"Well, you see," he replied, using the tip of a quill to stir his soup. "I do very much like to have some kind of blackmail material, in order to have smug Muggle studies teachers and their girlfriends to help me mark my work, so as to outdo my fellow Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"Nuh-uh!" Willow exclaimed. "That's cheating! That's not fair on Buffy!"

"Oh well," Giles gave her a wicked look, his green eyes twinkling with Ripperish glee. "I suppose that means I'll set off a fireworks display in the hall with banners proclaiming the wonder of your love affair to the school public."

Hermione gasped. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Wouldn't I?"

"He would," Willow whimpered.

Giles' face broke in a broad smile and he held out a quill to each of them. "You'll find an ink well in each of the desks, so take as many papers as you think you could manage and lets see how well you work."

***

Sitting down at the High Table for breakfast, Buffy Summers looked dead on her feet. Her face was pale and she had dark rings around her eyes, her hair pulled back in a rough ponytail at the back of her neck.

Propping her right elbow on the table, she rested her head on her upraised hand and it did quite honestly look like she was about to fall asleep where she sat.

From the extra table, just in front of the High Table, near the Gryffindor table, Spike was staring at her with concern and nudged his neighbour, Xander. Xander followed his gaze, also frowning.

"What do you thinks up with her?" he inquired.

"She ever looked that bad before?" Spike asked.

Xander pondered the question for a moment or two. "Only when she came back after the summer when she killed the Master..." he replied. "And when Angel went bad... and when he left..."

"**She** killed the Master?"

Xander gave the vampire a look. "Well, yeah, but only after he killed her...and you didn't know this, did you?" Spike shook his head, looking stunned. "The Master bit her and left her to drown. Angel and me went into the underground, found her, resuscitated her, then she threw the Master through a roof onto a pike and she's been kicking ass every since."

"Crazy bint," Spike muttered, pushing out from the table.

"Where are you going?"

The vampire looked down at him. "I'm gonna find out what's...bitten her," Xander groaned at the pun and Spike flashed a grin at him. "Maybe she just had a bad night's sleep or something."

Approaching the High Table, he moved behind Buffy's chair and squatted down beside her. 

"Morning, Slayer."

Buffy physically jumped, looking around in fright. "Spike! Don't do that!"

"Frighten ya?" He grinned up at her, leaning on the arm of her chair, but she didn't return it and concern filtered onto his features. "What's up, Slayer? You're not your usual chipper Slay-gal self."

"I-I'm just tired," she replied evasively.

"Tired how?"

She exhaled a breath, then looked at him. "Dreams."

"Dreams?"

She nodded grimly. "Slayer dreams. I've been having them every night and they've been keeping me awake. I keep seeing someone...something in the halls. I don't know who it is or what it is, but it's always looking for something and I know it's looking for Dawnie...I try to catch it, but every time I get close, I wake up."

"Any clue what it might be?"

Buffy shook her head. "All I know is that it's got glowing eyes and that it keeps whispering that 'Soon, my time will come and all the masks will be dropped'," she answered, running a hand over her face.

"You've told Watcher-man, right?"

"Everything I can," she said. 

"Well, why don't you get that Snape bloke to make up a batch of potion to let you sleep without dreams or something," the vampire suggested. "I mean, you look like you could do with a good night's rest, luv, and he's probably the only one who could give you a hand."

Rubbing her eyes, the Slayer nodded. "I-I guess I could do that."

"And you have no intention of doing that," Spike retorted. "You don't want to ask the bloke for anything, do you?"

"Spike, it's the end of term. All the teachers are real busy," Buffy said quietly. "I don't wanna take up anyone's time. I can deal with the dreams. I've been doing it for five years and if I can't deal by now..." He gave her a look. "Okay, okay, if they don't stop by next week, I'll ask Snapey."

"You do that, Slayer," the vampire said, squeezing her arm. "I hate seeing you worn out like this."

Buffy smiled wearily at him. "Thanks, Spike."

"Not a problem, Slayer," he answered, returning the smile as he stood back up. "You just take care, all right?"

"Yeah," she said. "I'll be fine."

***

"I don't like this."

Two weeks had passed since the invasion of the school had occurred and since the new protection charms had been added around the whole building, preventing anything else from breaking in.

Once again, Dawn Summers and Duncan Cameron were in the girls' toilets in the second floor corridor, checking on the potion that Dawn was brewing and had been for several weeks without his knowledge.

"You're such a baby," Dawn snorted derisively. "It's not like I'm making you go into the Chamber of Secrets or anything. You just have to test the potion..." She held out a bubbling cup to him. "Go on."

Duncan looked at it uneasily. "I don't know, Dawnie..."

"Hey, at least you're only gonna turn into me, right?" She grinned at him. "What could be wrong with that?"

Reluctantly swilling the lumpy substance around in the glass, he looked at her. "Are you gonnae take any of it then?" he asked. "I mean, I'm no' gonnae be the only one takin' this stuff."

"Babyman," Dawn rolled her eyes and reached up, grabbing several strands from his floppy brown hair. She picked up another cup, dropping the hairs in and ladled some of the lumpy polyjuice potion into it. "Okay...on three...one, two, three..."

Both of them took several gulps of the potion.

"Oh my gaaaaaaaaaawd!" Duncan wailed, fleeing for the nearest toilet.

Dawn had to agree with him, the half-full cup slipping from her hand and bouncing on the stone floor, splattering the remains of the potion at her feet, as pain shot through her body.

It felt like her bones were twisting and wriggling under her skin, which seemed to be stretching. Her joints started making strange, clicking sounds, her muscles twitching and she gasped, doubling over.

Prickles ran over her scalp and forehead. She saw her hair shrink upwards, shaking fingers grasping at it as it got shorter, until it drooped over her eyes in a loose fringe and that was when she realised she found she could straighten up without pain.

Looking down at her body, she clapped her hands to her mouth to try to smother a fit of giggles, as she recognised Duncan's hairy legs sticking out from beneath her knee-length grey skirt. 

It didn't work and the giggles that escaped her mouth sounded bizarre, lower than her own, ringing off the walls of the bathroom.

"This isn't funny," her own voice rang out from the toilet cubicle.

"It so is!" she called back in Duncan's lower voice. Omigod! This was so cool! She quickly added. "You look good in a skirt!"

"I WHAT!?!" Duncan burst out of the cubicle, one hand holding his baggy trousers up around Dawn's waist, which was much slimmer than his own. Duncan wasn't fat, but he did have the build for playing a tough, resilient beater on a Quidditch team.

Blue eyes stared at the replica of his own body in disbelief, while Dawn did a little pirouette, making him moan in abject horror at the nightmare vision that was playing out in front of him.

"You look good," she said, grinning.

"I look like an idiot."

Dawn laughed. "Don't worry, Duncan," she soothed. "It wears off in an hour."

Duncan's expression looked the same whether it was on her face or his own. "A-a-an hour?"

"Yuh-huh," Adjusting the waistband of her skirt, Dawn looked at him. Her own features had gone white as a sheet and Duncan was leaning against the doorframe of the nearest toilet cubicle. "What's up?"

"Us...we're stuck like this...for an hour?"

"Yeah. And?"

"And," Duncan whimpered. "We have potions in ten minutes!"

Dawn's face mirrored his. "Oh crap!"

"You bloody well could say that! What are we goin' tae do?"

Dawn couldn't help giggling as Duncan's normal pronunciation slipped into her own accent. "We...we could always skip the class, I guess," she suggested. The look on his face said that was worse than being in her body. "Or not..." Chewing on her lip, she looked down at her body, then at him. "Quick! Take your clothes off!"

"I bloody well will not!"

Dawn rolled her eyes, hands on her hips. "If we're gonna make it to potions, do you want everyone to see you running around the school in a skirt, doofus? I mean, not you-you, but me-you."

"But you...I'll see your...parts...naked..."

"OH!" Dawn felt heat burning up her face and tried not to look as flustered as she felt. "Uh..." She gave him a helpless look. "Could you...y'know get dressed with your eyes closed?"

"I-I could try," he agreed. "We-we should go in cubicles next to each other...pass the clothes under the partition."

"Yeah..."

They both ran into the neighbouring cubicles and Dawn hastily stripped off the shoes, shirt and skirt, pushing them under the partition as quickly as she could. She tried to avoid looking at her underpants, which felt a lot tighter than usual. She hastily unfastened the bra that was cutting in under her rib-cage.

"Duncan?"

"Aye?"

"Do you want my bra?"

There was a silence only broken by a demented giggle from Myrtle, two cubicles further down.

"Dawn, I really didnae need to have ye ask me that," Duncan mumbled, but he still stuck a hand under the partition and claimed it anyway. A few seconds later, he cautiously asked. "Er...how do ye put it on? I mean, I'm no' lookin' at...them, cos I've got me eyes closed..."

"Get it the right way around, put your arms through the straps and pull it on. How hard is that?"

"You don't want tae know," Duncan muttered.

There were several bumps and curses from Duncan's side of the partition as his elbows apparently banged against the sides of the cubicle in his struggle to fasten the odd piece of woman's clothing.

Five minutes later, they emerged from their respective cubicles and Dawn looked him up and down. "I guess you'll do," she said, tucking the shirt into the trousers she now wore. "How do I look?"

Duncan looked her up and down. "Uncomfortable," he replied.

"Huh?"

"You've got your feet three foot apart, Dawnie."

Going pink, Dawn shifted a little. "Well, I'm kinda...not used to having...stuff in the way down there," she mumbled. Duncan grinned at her, then rolled his shoulders, his grin contorting into a grimace. "What?"

"How do you wear these things? They're some kind torture device!"

"You think a bra is uncomfortable?"

Duncan tossed his head in her direction, her hair flying everywhere. "Like, duh!"

"I so do not sound like that!" she exclaimed.

"Do too!"

"Ock aye, laddie?"

"Hey! I dinnae sound like that!"

Dawn pressed her eyes shut for a long moment. "We're never gonna get away with this," she said, trying to decide whether to laugh or cry. "I bet Snape'll work it out as soon as we go in."

"Aye, because you're no afraid of him and I am!"

"And the potion! It'll wear off before class finishes!"

"Oh crap! Then he'll know we've been doin' stuff we shouldn't have!"

Dawn looked down at the cauldron that was still bubbling in the toilet. "There's only one thing we can do," she said, giving him a hopeless look. "We have to take enough to get us through the hour."

"Take it? Now?"

"No," Dawn replied. "Take it with us and try not to let Snape catch us with it."

Duncan whimpered. "We're gonnae die. He's gonnae kill us."

"Oooh, yes!" Myrtle's head poked through the door of her toilet. "That would be good, wouldn't it? And," She gave Duncan-in-Dawn's-form a coy look. "If you get your own body back before you die, you can always come and share my cubicle. There's plenty of room for two..."

"Omigod..." From her position, kneeling at the cauldron, ladling potion into little bottles that had once held ingredients, Dawn grimaced. "I so didn't need to see what Myrtle flirting with me would look like..."

"Dawnie..."

A broad grin spread on the replicas of Duncan's lips, the mischievous glimmer in the eyes pure Dawn Summers. "You know," she said, tossing him one of the bottles, which he hid in his - or her - robes. "This could be fun."

"Or suicidal," Duncan offered. 

"Nah," Dawn laughed, closing the door on the bubbling cauldron and taking Duncan by the arm. Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled, a sign that classes were about to start. Grabbing their bags from the sink, Dawn grinned. "It'll be great!"

"I wish I had yer optimism," Duncan mumbled.

"Instead of my boobs?" 

"Dawnie!"

***

Looking up from the register as the class piled into the classroom, Severus Snape arched an eyebrow as Summers Junior and Cameron stumbled through the door and immediately took up a position in the back row of desks.

They were practically steeped in the shadows and would barely have been visible to anyone who didn't know every subtle nuance of the layout and lighting patterns of the dark classroom.

Summers Junior hiding at the back?

Well, well, something odd was certainly afoot.

Both of them seemed to be paying a lot more attention than usual to how tidy their desk was, neither of them looking in his direction, although he did notice Cameron nudging Summers Junior several times.

After checking the register and setting them to a task of working on a wit-sharpening potion, a standard potion that should be to all the fourth years abilities, Snape let his eyes drift back to his protegee at the back of the class.

Hands that were shaking wildly were hacking ginger roots blindly, although - he noted with amused interest - Cameron seemed to have got over the shakes that always assailed him as soon as he entered the dungeon classroom.

How very...interesting.

Drifting around the class, the room stuffy with fumes and the nervous scent of thirty teenagers, the only sound that reached Snape's ears were the bubbling sounds of the cauldrons, the crackles of the fires and...whispering.

His eyes hooded, he searched out the culprits.

Somehow, he was not surprised, as Cameron whispered to Summers Junior, while swapping perfectly cut roots and ground scarab beetles with the horribly butchered roots that Summers had in front of her.

Without catching their attention, he circled around, coming to a halt directly behind Cameron and spoke quietly, almost directly in the boy's ear, "And just what do you think you're doing, Mr Cameron?"

Summers went rigid, but Cameron turned and looked up at him. There was no trace of fright of surprise on his features. "I-I-I was kinda helping D...Dawnie, sir," The stammer was clearly faked, but it was very convincing. "She didn't...didnae know how to cut her roots properly."

"Indeed, Cameron," Snape smirked. The boy's lips turned up in a smirk, which was quickly covered up with a sulky scowl. Oh, she was good. She was very good. "And you, Summers," Summers squeaked. "Tell me, how did you manage to produce a year seven potion three days ago and yet, now, you can not even cut some roots."

Summers mouth opened and closed silently several times. "I-I-I..."

"Some time this millennium would be pleasant, Summers," he drawled, watching for Cameron's reaction out of the corner of his eye. He recognised the stubborn glare that was etched on the boy's face.

"Quit being mean to him!"

Snape arched an eyebrow. "Him?"

Cameron blinked. "Oh! Her! Right! I meant her!" The boy shifted from foot to foot, wiggling his hips a little. With one hand, he tugged at the waistband of the trousers, a grimace crossing his face.

"What on earth are you doing, Cameron?"

Blue eyes looked up at him innocently. "My trousers are a bit tight, sir," he replied, a moan of anguish escaping Summers Junior. "I kinda..." The boy was grinning like a Cheshire cat. "I kinda grew since last night."

Severus was hard-pressed to quash a genuine laugh at the smug look on Cameron's borrowed features. No doubt, that was the little brat's intention. "Indeed," was the only reply he gave though.

It had to be one word, or he would have laughed, he knew.

Behind him, Summers was scarlet, her face buried in her hands.

"Summers? You're ill?"

"I-I-I'm not...um...that is..."

"You, perhaps, are...not feeling yourself, Miss Summers?" he suggested mildly, a slight lift of one side of his mouth serving more effectively than the widest of grins, his eyes glittering with amusement.

Two pairs of blue eyes stared at him in shock.

Feigning ignorance to what he had just said, he looked down at the pile of butchered roots, then at the girl. "Summers, perhaps you should take Cameron's generous offer of assistance. My hopes for you as a potions mistress are clearly in vain."

With that, he swept off, leaving them exchanging bemused looks.

He had implied that he had caught them out, and yet, he had also just blasted that idea to pieces, leaving two very confused teenagers gawping in his wake, making him grin inwardly.

The mind of the teenager was a complicated thing and yet, it could still be befuddled with such ease, it was almost child's play.

***

Tidying up their potions equipment and cleaning out their cauldron, Duncan and Dawn managed to take their second dose of polyjuice, apparently without being noticed by their Professor. 

"D'you think he knows?" Duncan asked in a whisper, as they piled their notes into each other's bags.

Dawn shot a furtive look at Snape, who was marking notes in a hefty book on his desk. "I'm not sure," she replied softly. "I think he does, but he's pretending not to, to confuse us and make us do something stupid to give ourselves away."

"Huh?"

"Now, you're starting to sound like me," Dawn laughed, receiving a pointed glare from her friend. "Look, if Snapey figured there was something up and he was mad at us about it, he woulda called us outta the class before, wouldn't he?"

"Well...aye..."

Dawn shuddered. "Okay, that sounded so not right!"

"And you talking with my voice did?"

They exchanged grins, knowing full well that this had to be one of the most surreal days that they had ever had, which was really saying something at Hogwarts.

Gathering the last of their notes up and stacking them together, they piled everything else that was left over into their bags, following the communal scrum towards the door of the classroom.

"Mr Cameron," Snape's voice spoke quietly from the front of the class. Duncan and Dawn both whipped around, exchanging anxious glances. Snape looked up from the book, his expression unreadable. "A word, if you don't mind."

"Oh crap," Duncan squeaked. "What do we do?"

Dawn nodded to the door. "Go back to Myrtle's toilet. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"But..."

"Go on," she insisted firmly. "I'll be okay."

Reluctantly, with one last look at Snape, who had turned his attention back to the marks book, Duncan took her bag and followed the rest of the class out of the door, closing the door behind him.

"So..."

Snape said nothing, did even less. 

It seemed like several minutes had past before he spoke. 

"Come."

Approaching the desk, she assumed what she hoped was a vaguely Duncan-esque stance, wondering if she was going to be in a lot of trouble if he had worked out who she really was.

After all, if he hadn't worked it out, he would have to be real stupid and Snapey was hardly a stupid guy.

"Tell me, _Mr Cameron_," his intonation of the words were laced with sarcasm. "How did it feel to actually be adept at potions for once?" He raised his eyes slowly from the book and met Dawn's. "Or, should I say, as efficient as usual?"

"I dinnae know what you mean."

"That really was a frightfully dire approximation of a Scottish accent, was it not, Miss Summers?" Snape remarked, laying his quill down. There was a definite amused twinkle in his black eyes.

Dawn shrugged, grinning. "I guess so."

"And you decided on coming to my class in his form when exactly?"

"Uh...well...we kinda took the potion before we remembered that we had a class..."

"And how long have you been working on this little project?" He arched a brow at her questioningly.

"For a month," she replied cheerfully. "But, duh, you knew that anyways, since you know that polyjuice takes a month to make, oh all knowing Potions Professor."

"And your source for boomslang skin and bicorn?"

She rounded her eyes at him. "I just used the stuff you gave me, Professor Snape."

"I wonder, Miss Summers," he remarked, smirking a little as he lifted his quill from the book. "How would your gullible little friend appreciate it, if I gave him detention for his cheek in this lesson?" 

"No! You can't do that to Duncan!"

"Pray tell, why not?"

"Because he didn't do anything!"

"Alas, we have witnesses to prove otherwise, don't we, Miss Summers?" he said calmly. "Now, if you don't mind, if you wish to prevent your friend from humiliation, I would suggest you inform me where you find your supplies."

"Um..."

"Am I to assume that it is from a source, who is unaware that you have been raiding his supplies?"

"You could kinda...maybe say that...kinda..."

"And who, Miss Summers, might this source be?"

***

"Hey, Dawnie! Dawnie! Wait up!"

Duncan wasn't aware of the voice hailing him, until a hand grabbed his shoulder and he spun around to find Professor Summers smiling at him. It felt like the bottom of his belly had dropped out. 

Like every other boy in his class, he had briefly had a crush on the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor and now, she was up close and she looked too pretty, in black and red combination, although tired.

All the teachers had been looking tired lately, but especially Professor Summers, McGonagall and Giles.

"H-h-hi."

Summers gave him an odd look. "What's up with you?"

"Up? With me?" Duncan hoped that Dawn's voice didn't sound as terrified as he thought it did. "I-I-I just had potions."

Professor Summers rolled her eyes ceilingwards. "And I bet that cranky I'm-an-evil-fiend-so-fear-me-cos-I-wear-black jerk has been picking on you, just because you're related to me again, right?"

"Er...aye...aye, you could say that."

"Dawnie, I think you've been spending too much time with that Scottish kid," the Professor laughed. "You're even starting to use a Scottish accent!" She raised a hand and ruffled Dawn's hair. "It's so cute."

"Er...thanks..."

Another odd look was directed at him. "Thanks? Are you feeling all right?"

"Actually," Duncan fished around for a desperate excuse. "Er...I've got a...er...I've got a stomach ache..."

Professor Summers studied him, a deeply suspicious look on her face. "Uh huh...and what were you doing here, instead of going back to the dorm like you were meant to? You know you're meant to be hiding out here."

"Hiding out?" All right, Duncan was officially puzzled.

Summer raised a hand and touched his forehead. "Are you sure you haven't hit your head or sniffed to many potions fumes or anything?" she inquired, sounding a little worried. "You can't have forgotten that Glory's still looking for you!"

"Glory?" What was going on here? Who was this Glory-person? Why was she looking for Dawn? Why had Dawn been sent to Hogwarts for protection? Yes, they had been told she was a visiting student, but that was as far as it went.

Before Summers could ask another question, they both looked around at running footsteps coming towards them, down the long hallway.

Duncan's physical form ran around the corner and almost collided with them, blue eyes going wide at the sight of Professor Summers standing there, hands on her hips and a questioning look on her face. "Buffy!"

"Duncan, right?" Hazel eyes narrowed a little.

"Uh...right...yeah...I was just looking for Dawnie..."

"I was just telling her about my stomach upset," Duncan interrupted quickly.

Dawn - through his eyes - gave him a look, then turned back to her sister. "Yeah! We were going to go to Madam Pomfrey to get something for it, but Snapey kept me back for speaking out in class."

"You? Speaking in class?" Summers had never looked more sceptical. "In Snapey's class, Duncan? You hardly even speak in my class."

"I did it because Dawnie couldn't," Dawn replied stoutly. "Can...can we go now? I mean, Dawnie isn't looking real well." Duncan immediately let out a piteous moan and clutched his stomach. "Please?"

"I guess...Dawnie, I'll see you back at our room, okay?"

"Aye," Duncan replied, as Dawn grabbed his arm and hauled him off. He had never been more relieved in his life to be away from a teacher. He was convinced that, if she had looked into his eyes, she would have known he wasn't who he appeared to be.

Something told him that they wouldn't have been able to pull the wool of her eyes for long.

"Why aren't you at the bathroom already?" Dawn hissed, as they ran up the staircase towards the second floor corridor and towards the toilets. "It doesn't take ten minutes to get from Snapey's room to the bathroom."

Duncan went red. "I got kinda...lost," he replied sheepishly. "And then, your sister showed up."

"I guess I can forgive you then," Dawn grinned.

"Dawnie..."

"Yeah?" she looked around at him, as she pushed the door of the toilets open.

Worrying his lower lip, trying to decide if he should ask her what he had been wondering since her sister had spoken to him, he met her eyes. "Whose Glory?"

"How...?" A startled look crossed Dawn's face.

"Professor Summers mentioned her," Duncan explained. "You don't have to tell me who she is if you don't want to..."

Dawn stared at him for a minute, then smiled thinly. "It might kinda help if you know, y'know," she said, motioning him into the bathroom. "Once we change back, we'll go to my room and I'll tell you."

***

"I just had the weirdest conversation ever with Dawnie."

Giles, kneeling on the floor, made an incoherent sound of inquiry, rooting through the cupboards that stood just behind the teacher's desk in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.

Buffy walked in the door of the class. "Yeah," she said, a thoughtful look on her face. "It was kinda like it wasn't even Dawnie I was talking to, which is impossible..."

"Of course, of course," Giles nodded, not even looking around. "Where the devil is that blasted box?"

"Box?" Buffy peered down at him. "Whatcha lookin' for?" She spotted something on the desk, behind a pile of open books at the front of the desk and grinned, recalling what she had heard from Willow about Giles overworking. "Making soup, huh?"

"What?" Giles looked up. "Oh. Not exactly."

His head was stuck back into the cupboard immediately, packets and boxes piling up around him as he raked through the contents of the large cupboard, muttering a liturgy of rather interesting words under his breath.

Peering into the simmering cauldron, Buffy's nose wrinkled. "Looks like some kinda way funky soup," she remarked. It was a pale, transparent brown with sprinkles of what looked like herbs floating on the surface.

It smelt good though, spicy and savoury.

"Yes, yes," Giles waved distractedly.

Shrugging, Buffy poked the ladle into the cauldron.

"Tastes okay," she gave her opinion, only for Giles to whip around, scrambling onto his feet and staring at her wildly, then at the ladle in her hand. A wave of dizziness and nausea washed over her. "What?"

"You didn't...oh dear God, Buffy...please tell me you didn't..."

"Didn't wha..."

Her words trailed off as the potion took effect and she keeled over in a dead faint.

***

"Severus!"

The door of Snape's private quarters swung open a heartbeat before Snape looked up to see Giles striding towards him, a fraught look on his face and a bundle gripped securely in his arms. The older man was the only one in the school who knew the password, lest anything happen to Severus, as had been the case the previous month.

"Rupert? I thought you were busy with essays."

"We have a bit of a problem, Severus, and I need you to take care of someone for me, lest there are any side effects."

"Someone? Side effects?"

Giles' face flushed. "I was brewing a potion in my classroom and since I have been making soups more recently, she assumed that I was making a soup and...well, she should have asked first...dear lord...I don't even know what the stuff does!"

"What were you attempting to make?"

"A rejuvenating potion," Giles admitted immediately. "None of us have been at our best of late and I was aiming for something that might help. However, my powdered horn of bicorn vanished," That made Severus smirk a little. Hmm. Where could it have gone? "Before I could add it, so she ingested an incomplete potion."

Snape mentally groaned. "And you want me to watch over her?"

"You are the best person to recognise side-effects of various potions and counteract them with your own," Rupert said. "I would rather you watched her in case, while I tried to find an antidote, as I know exactly what was in the substance."

"What happened to the unfortunate girl? Where is she now?"

Giles looked rather sheepish. "Well, she fainted in the classroom and then, the potion actually did work...although not quite as I intended," He opened the bundle in his arms revealing a rosy-cheeked baby of about eight months, gurgling contentedly.

Dear sweet Merlin...

"No!"

"Sev, you're the only one I would trust with her."

"It's a bloody baby, Rupert! You know I despise the things! I would rather spend an hour in the company of Summers than touch that thing with a barge pole!"

Green eyes bored dangerously into black. "Sev, this is more important than your petty dislike of small children. If we don't get her back on her feet, the school may have lost one of its key defences."

"You mean..." Severus eyed the pink...thing that was squirming in Giles' arms with distaste. "That thing is Summers? You...you're asking me to watch over a smaller and probably more irritating version of your little hussy."

"Please, Sev, just so I can find out how to get her back to normal."

Before the Potions Professor could answer, the baby was deposited in his arms and Giles was already walking out the gloomy room, exclaiming what a wonderful man Severus was. 

Snape made a mental note to poison him.

Shifting the baby, who was wearing little more than one of Giles' own shirts, he held her under both arms - after struggling for several minutes to get a good grip of the squirming bundle - and glared at her.

She giggled.

Damnit.

Even as a baby, she was bloody irritating.

It was going to be a long evening, he knew.

One of her tiny hands reached out and grabbed his hair and pulled. Hard.

Biting down on his tongue, he smothered the litany of curses that rose - although he couldn't quite be sure why. It wasn't as if him swearing would have any effect on her - and tugged her away from his hair, leaving several strands locked in her already-strong little fist.

She stared at him, her enormous hazel eyes seeming to get even bigger.

Her lower lip started quivering.

He could see it coming before it hit, but it was too late to stop it and she released a howl of protest.

"All right, all right!" He brought her closer, offering his hair as a toy, but she seemed to have lost interest in it, screaming with great gusto. Merlin! How could a child fit lungs that powerful into so tiny a torso?

Shaking his hands slightly, trying to jiggle her in the natural manner than mothers seemed to do, he only succeeded in making her howl even more loudly, kicking her plump pink legs and thrash with her tiny fists.

What the devil was he meant to do?

What did he know about babies?

Thinking quickly, he tried to remember what he had seen witches do with their babies and - with some rather awkward negotiation of baby Buffy's wriggling body - managed to bring his arm underneath her, cradling her against his chest.

One of her hands caught his and yanked it to her mouth. Another storm of curses was hastily silenced when baby teeth bit into his thumb.

"Damnit, Summers," he growled, trying to pull his thumb free, but her grip seemed to be unbreakable.

The chewing gentled, though, and he groaned.

Summers, the annoying little trollop that she was, had shrunk herself into baby form by touching something she shouldn't have and now, she was cradled in his arms and sucking on his thumb.

Things surely could not get any worse.

Walking across the room, he sat down on the edge of his bed, studying the smaller version of the Slayer. She was hardly blessed in the hair department, wispy tufts of mousey hair standing up here and there and she was plumper than he imagined her being as a baby.

Perhaps because she was so lithe and muscular at present. 

Large hazel eyes were growing drowsy and he held his breath hopefully. If she went to sleep, that meant he would be able to lay her down and get on with some work while she slept.

Gradually, her lids drooped shut and Severus tried to place her on the bed without disturbing her.

However, as soon as he withdrew his hands, her eyes snapped open and she started to wail all over again, stretching out her little hands to him. 

With a groan, he lifted her back up and held her against his shoulder. Standing up, he paced across the room, one hand under her, the other spread on her back to hold her securely. 

"You really are the most obnoxious creature alive, Summers," he murmured to her, as he walked. "Small and blonde and downright irritating no matter what age you happen to be."

He could feel her mouth gnawing on the thick black fabric that covered his shoulder and mentally prayed for mercy from anyone who was listening.

It took nearly half an hour of pacing before the gnawing stopped and another fifteen minutes to assure that she really was asleep. More carefully than before, he made his way back to the bed and placed her in it, drawing the blankets around her.

Straightening up, he looked down at her, checking that she wasn't about to burst into spectacular fits of tears again.

It didn't appear so.

With pudgy little hands curled into fists on either side of her head, she was smiling in her sleep. She did appear larger than she had been when Giles had handed her to him, which had to be good. Rupert's shirt that covered her tiny body looked utterly absurd and Snape was horrified to realise that she actually looked quite adorable.

Turning his attention rapidly from the baby, he hurried back to his desk and tried to focus on the potions essays he had been working through.

***

"Bloody hell..."

"Pretty much."

Duncan stared at Dawn in awe and shock. "I...I...but ye...and she...ye both seem so normal...so...not magical."

They were in Buffy and Dawn's bedroom and once Duncan had gotten passed being impressed at the stunning room, Dawn had sat down and explained everything she could to him.

Buffy would probably be pissed about someone else knowing, but Duncan was her friend and Dawn knew she could trust him.

"That's kinda the idea, so no one guesses," Dawn admitted quietly. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, her hands squeezed together between her knees, her eyes on her friend, full of fear and worry. 

What if Duncan thought she was a freak? 

What if he hated her after this?

"Wow..."

"Good wow or...?"

Duncan gave her a lop-sided grin. "Big good," he replied. "I mean really wow! The Vampire Slayer is real and she's your sister and she's our Professor! And you - you're a magical being! Super-magical!"

"You don't think I'm just a big freak?"

"Nah!" Approaching the bed, he sat down beside her and gave her a shy grin. "Ye're Dawnie, no matter where ye came from. I like ye as Dawnie and everyone else likes ye as Dawnie. Yer not just a key or whatever it is people say ye are."

Laying her head on his shoulder, she grinned at him. "You're real sweet, y'know."

"Och, I don't know about that..." he mumbled, going a deep shade of crimson. They sat in silence for several minutes, then he hesitantly asked. "Do ye want tae see if we can go down to the games room for a while?"

"Sure! We can get Spike!"

The boy laughed. "I still cannae believe that we have a vampire in the school..."

"Not many people know and Spike isn't really a proper vampire anymore, anyway, but he's still so cool."

"Yeah," Duncan agreed grinning. "Kinda like the perfect big brother, eh?"

"Exactly," Dawn said. "Only, with fangs."

***

The whimpering was growing louder.

Laying down his quill, Snape turned to check on the infant, who now lay where baby Buffy had been lying. Over a couple of hours, she had grown from the baby form into that of a toddler, so he assumed that the potion was simply wearing off.

The bed was empty and a very drowsy and tearful four-year-old was standing on the floor, rubbing her eyes. Giles' shirt was hanging down to her feet and her mousey hair had grown into blonde curls around her round face.

"Where's my mommy?" she asked plaintively. "I want my mommy."

Sliding off the stool, Severus mentally imagined all the unpleasant things he was going to do to Giles when he got hold of him. Going down on one knee, he tried to force a friendly expression onto his face, but gave up.

"Your mother had to go out for a little while, Summers," he said, keeping his voice as gentle as he could. He didn't want another screaming fit, if he could help it. "She asked me to watch you until she returned."

Moist hazel eyes blinked up at him. "I'm not Summers," she said, sniffing. "I'm Buffy, silly. Who're you?" 

"You may call me Snape."

"That's a silly name," she mumbled. A hand rubbed under her runny nose, smearing the excretions over her hand and Snape groaned. How he had always hated the habits of children, ever since he was one.

Withdrawing a handkerchief from his robes, he lifted her hand away and wiped it clean, then held out the handkerchief. "Blow your nose, little one," he said. She stared at him in confusion. He exhaled a half-sigh, half-groan and held the kerchief around her little button of a nose. "Blow."

The resulting sound was somewhere between a squeak and a snort.

"Better?"

"Uh-huh," she replied, rubbing her eyes with her other hand.

"And now, why are you up? You were meant to be asleep."

"I-I-I had a bad dream."

"A bad dream?" She nodded. "Well, it's finished now. Go back to bed."

Her round eyes filled with tears and she started sniffing again. "It was scary," she whispered. "Mommy and daddy were yelling at each another again...I don't like it when mommy and daddy yell..."

Mommy and daddy yell?

If he was right, the dreams of the child before him were drawn from the memories Summers would have had at that age. He had heard her talk about her mother before, but never her father. 

"What did they say, little one?"

"Daddy was being mean..." she whispered. "Daddy said he was going to leave us... that he wished he had a better family..."

Then, much to Severus' dismay, she started to cry.

If anything, this was worse than the screaming.

She stood there, in the middle of his private chamber, shivering and looking utterly pitiful in the oversized grey shirt, with huge, fat tears rolling down her chubby pink cheeks and dripping onto the floor.

"Come now," he patted her on the shoulder. "It'll be all right."

Her shiny, pink lower lip quivered. The tears increased in quantity. "I want my mommy, Mr Snape. It-it-it's not nice here. It's cold and it's dark and I had a scary dream and I want my mommy..."

She could have melted the coldest heart in the world with those few words.

He had to distract her. Anything to stop the tears, which were making him rather uncomfortable. "You are cold, child?" She nodded. "Would you like to see a magic trick that will allow you to get warm as well?"

"M-magic?"

Standing up, he motioned for her to follow him around the chair that stood near the mantle. Withdrawing his wand, he pointed it at the dark fire place and conjured a blazing fire, which immediately flooded the room with warm, flickering light. 

"Ooooh! That was magic!"

"Indeed," he replied. "Now, perhaps, Miss Summers, you would like to sit in the chair and get warm, while I do some work?"

The tiny blonde girl looked up at him as if she had been betrayed in some way. "I-I can't sit on my own, Mr Snape," she whispered. "Mommy doesn't like me sitting by the fire on my own."

Typical.

Just typical.

A small hand rose and grasped his. Dear Merlin! She hadn't been joking when she said she was cold. Her tiny hand felt like it was made of ice! 

Summoning one of his old, but less used robes that were far too small for him, he put them on the little version of Summers. While he had not worn them for years, he had kept them for sentimental reasons, a gift from his late grandmother.

They would no doubt dwarf the tiny girl, but they were the smallest thing he had.

"This is a funny dress," she commented. "Where'd you get 'em?"

"They are robes, child," he explained, tucking them snugly around her, the thick, midnight blue fabric pooling around her little feet on the floor. "They were made for me by my grandmother."

"They're pretty," she decided firmly, as he rolled up the long sleeves so her hands could be seen. "I like blue. It's my favouritest colour of all. Blue is pretty. Do you like blue? I don't think you do cos you're wearing all black and it's not blue. Do you like blue?"

"You talk rather a lot, little one."

"Uh-huh," she agreed cheerfully. "Mommy says so too. I like talking cos talking is how you can know people and I wanna know who you are, so I'm talking to you to see who you are and do you like blue?"

"I suppose I can tolerate it," he replied, trying desperately not to smile at her childish prattling, despite all his best efforts. She really was an annoyingly adorable little creature. "Now, would you like to go back to bed?"

Summers' face fell. "I thought we were gonna sit in the big seat," she said, pointing at it with a tiny finger. "Can I sit on your lap?"

"I really ought to..."

"Please can we sit in the big chair, Mr Snape?" Eyes that were far too big and pleading and which should have been classed as illegal weapons of persuasion were directed at him.

Harrumphing his irritation, he reluctantly acquiesced, sitting down in the large, dark leather chair and lifting the four-year-old Summers into his lap. She squealed with glee and snuggled against him, her tiny feet pulled up inside the warm robes. 

"All right," he said, looking down at her. "What now?"

"Can I ask you stuff? I like asking stuff! It means I can find out things, so can I ask you stuff?"

"I suppose you might," he sighed.

"Okay..." Her face screwed up in concentration, as she thought. "Okay! I wanna ask you...why are you looking after me? Why isn't Mrs Snape looking after me? I mean, mommy always gets ladies to look after me, so why did she get you instead of Mrs Snape? Is there a Mrs Snape or..."

"No." He cut off her question, partially amused, partially uncomfortable with this particular line of questioning. "There is no Mrs Snape. I was asked to watch over you, as a favour to a friend."

"Oh...why?"

"Why what?"

"Why isn't there a Mrs Snape?"

Snape looked down at her pensively. What harm could it do to answer? "Because I did not require one."

"Huh?"

"I did not need a wife."

"Why?" Summers asked, staring at him out of those irritatingly large eyes. She sounded horrified by the concept. "Don't you love nobody, Mr Snape? Does nobody love you neither? That's real sad! Aren't you sad that you don't love nobody?"

"I have never needed to, little one, and I am not the most loveable of people, so - if someone were mentally imbalanced enough," She looked blank. "If anyone were crazy enough to care for me," he corrected. "I would probably scare them away."

"But you're nice!"

Snape snorted at the thought. "I am most assuredly not nice, little one."

"Yuh-huh! You did magic and wrapped me in your funny dress and made me all cosy warm and you're looking after me!"

"That doesn't mean I am nice, child."

Hazel eyes studied him. "I like you," she said firmly. "And I think you're nice."

"You are quite insane, child," he sighed. How very ironic that the four-year-old Summers liked him and yet, the twenty-year-old version made it her life's pursuit to drive him up the wall.

A yawn from the tiny creature in his lap made him look down. 

Summers was cosily burrowing into his chest, smacking her lips sleepily. Her hands gripped into the front of his waistcoat as she rubbed her cheek against his chest, making herself comfortable.

Wonderful.

Just marvellous.

Summers had decided that she was going to sleep in his lap and was getting a good grip on his clothing, so he knew that he wouldn't be able to shake her off and place her in the bed.

Laying his head against the back of the chair, he lowered his eyes to the little girl who was presently snuggled against his chest. How, he wondered, could she go from being almost likeable to being the irritating creature she was now?

Raising a hand, he stroked the girl's tumbling blonde curls back from her face, almost smiling when she shifted and swatted at his hand, even though she was nearly asleep as it was.

She really was painfully likeable.

***

Muttering the password to Severus' chambers, Giles peered into the room. 

It wasn't quite as dark or cold as usual, which surprised him. There was a small fire crackling quietly in the grate and he could see one of Severus' hands resting on the arm of the chair in front of it.

Where Buffy was, he had no idea.

He had spent nearly four hours trying to solve the riddle of what the potion did and had finally come to the conclusion that what he had effectively made was a youth potion that wore off by the hour.

Approaching the chair that Severus was seated in, he rounded it and immediately stopped short, his eyes going round.

While he had seen many unnatural and bizarre things in his life, nothing could quite contend with the absurd image that was now being presented to him in all it's three dimensional glory.

Severus looked like he was asleep where he sat and comfortably so. That would have been a strange sight to see in itself. 

However, it was the sight of five-year-old Buffy, fast asleep, clad in Giles' grey shirt and in a large set of deep blue robes, cuddled against Severus' chest, one of his arms around her.

"Comment on this," the Potions Professor muttered, making Giles jump. "And I will hex you into next week."

"You're awake."

"How observant you are," Severus opened his eyes and sat up a little, which served to disturb the little girl asleep in his lap. Buffy whimpered in protest and snuggled closer against him. "I hope you have come to take her back."

"And disturb her when she is clearly so peaceful?"

"Giles," Severus growled.

The former watcher chuckled. "Of course I've come to take her back, Sev. Do you honestly think I'd be cruel enough to leave her to deal with you when she turned back into herself?"

Scowling at Giles, Snape turned his attention back to the child in his lap. "Little one," He gently shook her, until her hazel eyes opened and she squinted drowsily up at him. "Your uncle Rupert has come to take you back to your own room."

"NO!"

"Miss Summers..."

"I don't wanna go with him! I wanna stay with you!"

Giles smothered a snort of laughter, which made Snape glare at him. "Sorry."

"I'm afraid you can't stay here, child," Severus said to the mini-Buffy, who was glaring petulantly at Giles, her arms crossed over her chest. "I have a great deal of work to do and Mr Giles will be able to show you some more magic."

"Magic?" Buffy looked Giles up and down, her little nose wrinkling. "Nuh-uh. I don't like him. He looks mean. I wanna stay with you. You're nice."

By now, Giles was practically having to bite through his lip to stop himself from laughing out loud, while Severus looked like he was getting to the stage of wanting to hurl the child at the former Watcher's head.

"Very well, child," Snape stood up, Buffy clinging to him like a little blonde limpet, her arms around his neck. "If you are going to stay here, you will have to take a little of my medicine, to be sure you don't catch a cold."

"Medicine?" Buffy echoed dubiously. "Medicine is icky."

"You can stay and take medicine, or you can go with my friend, your uncle Rupert and he will give you chocolate."

"Oooh! Chocolate!" Buffy's eyes lit up. "Will you give me candy, Mister Giles?"

Giles nodded, unable to speak for fear of bursting out laughing.

"But..." Her wide eyes went back to Severus, who bent to deposit her on her feet on the floor. "You'll be all on your own again, Mr Snape! I don't wanna leave you on your own."

"I assure you I will be quite all right, Miss Summers," he said, giving her a gentle push towards Giles. She stopped and came back to his side, grabbing his hand and tugging on it. "What?"

"C'mere," she whispered, tugging his hand again. "I wanna tell you a secret."

Sighing, Snape went down on one knee, little Buffy barely even standing the same height as his shoulder. "Well?"

Looking suspiciously up at Giles, she stood on her toes and whispered in his ear. "I don't want you to be so sad no more. I'll love you, Mr Snape, even if nobody else does." A stunned look crossed his face and it only got worse when smacked a wet kiss on his cheek.

Above them, Giles was shuddering with the violence of his silenced laughter.

"Off with you, child," Severus snapped gruffly, standing back up.

Giles lifted the child up, ignoring her glare, and smirked at Severus. "Well, Sev, I must admit I'm impressed."

"Would you be so kind as to leave me? Now."

The watcher looked down at the sleepy girl, who looked like she was already about to fall asleep against his shoulder. "What about the robes she's wearing?" he asked, raising his eyes.

Snape looked at them.

"Let her keep them," he said finally, raising a hand to brush the girl's golden curls back from her cheeks again. "Although, when the potion wears off, I doubt she'll remember any of this evening. Do not inform her where they came from. She..." A faint smile curved his lips up. "She likes blue, therefore I believe they will be better used by her than I."

Giles nodded, all expression of mirth disappearing from his face. "Thank you for looking after her, Sev," he said sincerely.

"It was certainly...enlightening," Snape admitted quietly. "Good night, Rupert."

That said, he turned around and sat back down in the chair before the fire, letting the watcher and the young Buffy depart, leaving the quiet room steeped in silence and solitude once again. 

_______________________________

AN: Again, must apologise for the sheer size of the chapter - I assumed I was going to be struggling to hit ten pages on this and then...dumdumdum! The first scene took almost two, which meant the rest... expanded rapidly. Gyah. I have to admit I do love this chapter though. The mini-Buffy is so cute! And the Snape/Buffy...friendship, I suppose you could say...it makes me get all mushified inside! I am such a sap at times!

Coming soon in the next chapter of The Eighth Weasley - Hermione and Willow are forced to come clean, Lucius has a run in with a stranger, Buffy tries to find out what she's not being told, Dawn and Duncan aim for more chaos and lots more!


	43. The Power Of Two

THE POWER OF TWO

Notes: Okay. Again an awkward chapter to write. I had two slightly different trains of thought regarding the Buffy/Snape incident in the previous chapter and - as I type these notes - I'm still swithering over which to use. I'm sure it'll work out, cos I know where I'm leading, but both of them are so fun...

____________________________

Stretching luxuriously, Buffy yawned, arching her back and flexing her arms and legs until they ached in the way that feels so good as soon as you relax.

Which was when she became aware of something.

Of more than one something as a matter of fact.

One: if she could judge her body clock as well as she usually could, it was afternoon, which struck her as strange because she never slept past seven o'clock in the morning, even if it was the weekend.

Two: she could hear voices in the room, which seldom happened, because she had always attempted to keep their room concealed, lest someone accidentally betray Dawn's whereabouts to Glory.

Three: she felt alive. Not just newly-woken-and-a-little-drowsy alive, but caught-up-on-sleep-in-a-big-way-and-have-recharged-all-internal-batteries-to-full-power kind of alive. She was thrumming with energy, more than she had felt for days.

Four: Probably most importantly, she could sense a vampire in the near vicinity, but she definitely wasn't getting 'bad' vibes.

Sitting up, rubbing her eyes drowsily, she pulled open the drapes around her bed to see Dawn, Spike and Duncan seated on the floor, apparently playing a rather obtuse version of poker with exploding snap cards.

A pile of singed and burnt cards lay to one side.

"Evening, ducks," Spike saluted her. That explained the vampire-feeling and the non-threat instinct. "Feeling better?"

"Spike?"

"Well," the vampire commented to Duncan. "That proves she's awake, don't it?"

Dawn reached over and smacked him on the head. "Spike! She just woke up! Don't be mean to her until she's awake properly."

Pushing her sleep-tangled hair back from her face, uncaring of how unkempt she looked to one of her pupils, she swung her legs out of the bed and pushed her feet into her slippers. "What are you doing in here?" she demanded, scratching her head.

"Giles put me on guard duty," the vampire replied with a grin.

"Giles did what? In my bedroom?" she squeaked. "Okay, that's it. I'm killing him."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Buffy, you were pretty much unconscious," she said. "Giles just figured that I would be way safer having Spike as my guard dog until you were awake again. And Duncan just came along so Spike could teach us poker."

"Un...conscious? How long have I been out?"

"Don't worry about it, Slayer," Spike replied, placing a card down and pulling his hand back quickly when it exploded with a deafening bang. "Although, how you could sleep through nine games of this..."

Buffy blinked at him, having a little trouble remembering just how she had got from the classroom, to her bedroom, into her...wait a second...why was she wearing a large grey shirt and not much else? 

"Okay," she snapped. "What's going on?"

"Told you she was cranky when she woke up," Dawn muttered to Duncan, who was keeping his eyes safely down. "Buffy, you drank one of Giles' potions on Friday night and it pretty much knocked you out."

"Knocked me out how?"

Spike shrugged. "Watcher-man didn't go into details," he replied. "Just said that he was trying to find something that would freshen us all up a bit and you got to it before it was finished. Whatever it was, it helped you get some sleep."

"How much sleep...exactly?"

Looks were exchanged.

"Um..."

"Well..."

Buffy crossed her arms, tapping her bunny-slippered right foot. "Guys..."

"It's kinda...Monday afternoon," Dawn finally answered, cringing as if she expected to be yelled at.

"Monday? As in Monday-Monday? As in three days after Friday?"

"Yuh-huh...?"

Running a hand over her face, Buffy shook her head. "I don't believe this..." she muttered in disbelief, looking from Dawn to Spike and back. "You _let_ me sleep for three whole days?"

"It...wasn't exactly a matter of letting you sleep, Slayer. It was a matter of you not waking up."

"Once more, in American."

"You wouldn't wake up," Dawn interrupted quickly. "Giles tried pretty much everything to wake you up. Potions, spells, throwing you in a bath full of cold water... or that's what he told us."

"You didnae hear us playin' with the explodin' decks, either," Duncan added. "It would have woken the dead and you slept through it."

Buffy pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to take this information in. "Okay... so I've been asleep for three days..."

"And you're looking a lot better for it," Spike said with a wink. 

"Spike! Now is _so_ not a good time to be saying stuff like that!" Buffy wailed, looking like she desperately wanted to throw something at his head. "I need to know what I've missed! Has anything happened? Did anyone find out anything new? What's the what?"

"Well..."

"Yeah?"

Dawn looked down at her cards. "We accidentally burnt the staff room down and blew up half the suits of armour in the halls..." Duncan leaned over and whispered something to her. "And caused a flood in the dungeons...and...what was that thing called again? With the hitting tree...?"

Buffy looked hopelessly at Spike. "Please tell me they're joking..."

Spike grinned. "Of course they are, Slayer," he replied, his blue eyes dancing with mischief. "But, on a serious note, Red and the Prof upstairs are humping like bunnies on a regular basis."

Reaching down, the Slayer slapped him across the head, with a cry of, "Spike! Like that would happen!"

Unfortunately, with her somewhat renewed strength, an average Buffy-style slap across the head now sent the vampire flying across the room and he smacked into the wall with a thump, before landing in a heap on the floor.

Dawn shrieked and Duncan swore in ways that no fourteen year should know how.

"Oh crap!" Buffy added in a shrill voice.

"Ow...I think ow covers it..." Spike mumbled, as Buffy scrambled over to help him to his feet. "Slayer...whatever was in that brew you took...bloody hell...wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of you any time soon."

"Sorry," she winced, helping him back over to one of the seats. "I forgot I could do that. Haven't felt up to it, lately."

"That's cause you've been low on batteries, Slayer," Spike grimaced, clutching his bruised ribs. "Something tells me that your little duracell bunny has been recharged and you could go on and on and on and on and on and..." He gave her a quizzical look. "And did I mention the on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on..."

"Spike?"

"Yeah?" 

"Want me to slap you across the room again?"

"Not really, no."

Buffy smiled sweetly. "Then shut up."

"Shutting up, Slayer," he replied, then grinned. "And up and up and up and up and up and up and up and..."

"SPIKE!"

***

"Hey."

Sitting at the extended table, Xander looked up in surprise. "Anya!"

Evening meal was about to start, a few pupils and teachers just starting to filter into the massive hall, although only Xander was sitting at the table, the rest of the group no doubt awaiting Buffy.

Smiling slightly at him, Anya looked down at the opposite side of the table. "This is a very awkward situation," she noted, then looked across at him. "Would it be all right if I sit here?"

"I guess," he replied.

The former demon slid down into the seat opposite him, looking down at the plate in front of her. On the other side of the table, Xander picked at the chips lying on his plate, an uncomfortable look crossing his face.

"So..."

"So..."

Another silence fell.

Xander dropped his fork, sighing. 

"Look, An," he said, looking at her. "This is crazy. We...we weren't right together, were we? We haven't been right for a long time so why are we being so crazy with each other now, when we know we're way better this way?"

Anya's smile was faint, but visible. "You're right," she agreed.

"Hold up," Xander gasped, clapping a hand over his heart. "I'm right? Why couldn't you realise this...I dunno...when we were arguing? Damn! If I'd known I could make you agree with me so easily..."

"Okay, now you're being an arrogant male oppressor!" 

"Hey! I resemble that remark! I...er...resent...no, wait! I know this one!" Xander cocked his head with a teasing half-grin at her. "Which one of those do I use if I want it to be good for me?"

Anya retorted, a genuine laugh escaping her. She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "You were a good, very sweet muggle boyfriend, Xander," she said sincerely, a wicked gleam in her eyes as she added, "And a very, very good orgasm friend."

At the High Table, Hagrid seemed to have a choking fit over his dinner.

Clearing his throat, his face deep scarlet, Xander flashed a lop-sided, albeit slightly pleased and smug, grin at his former-girlfriend. "You couldn't have said that any louder, could you, honey? I mean, not that I mind the compliment..."

"Although," she interrupted. "You were the first orgasm friend I had in over a thousand years so I might not be a very good judge..."

"And you so could have missed that part," he added, raising a silencing hand. "The first part was good enough for my fragile, yet manly ego."

Giving him a familiar coy look, she leaned forward. "I don't think I am wrong about you, though Xander," she said in a softer voice, her fingers tightening around his. "And I still love you."

Xander looked down at their joined hands, then back at her face. "Yeah," he said with a smile. "I don't think I'm gonna ever stop loving you, y'know, and we can...well, we can do the friend thing, right? I mean, I did it with Willow and Cordy..."

"You think so?"

He nodded. "I know so."

***

"And I feel like...like...like...I dunno what it is! It's like I'm super-charged! Like I've maxed out on caffeine."

As they walked up the flight of stairs towards the Great Hall, Rupert Giles looked down at Buffy in clear amusement, as she practically bounced alongside him, talking nineteen to the dozen about how energised she was feeling.

He didn't need to be told and part of him wondered if it was the accidental ingestion of his potion that had done the trick or simply the fact that she had slept for nearly seventy-two hours straight.

Whatever it was, he hadn't seen her quite as exuberant for some time.

"Oh and I was wondering," she added, as they approached the doors of the Hall. "Do you know what happened to me after I drank that soupy stuff of yours? I mean, did I grow horns, or sprout a tail or something?"

"Hmm? Oh! No...nothing like that," he replied cheerfully. "No...no...not to worry. You were your usual charming self."

"Yeah, but I didn't have Slayery dreams and I've been having them every night since I got here and..." A puzzled look crossed her face. "I actually remember having a dream I haven't had since I was a kid..."

"Imagine that," Giles remarked dryly towards the ceiling. 

He and Severus were the only ones in the castle who knew what had actually happened to the Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts, although Giles has a sneaking suspicion that the Head Master was probably aware of it too.

Suspicious hazel eyes narrowed up at him. "Why do I get the idea that you're not telling me something?" she inquired, pausing, causing him to stop as well. "Is that why you left me these robey things?" She indicated to the dark blue robes she was wearing over her normal clothing. "To apologise in advance for when I find out what you did to me?"

"Not at all!" he exclaimed, grateful that it was - indeed - the truth. Buffy, after all, had a knack for knowing when he was lying and when he wasn't. "It just seemed that they would be more suited and well-fitted to you than I."

Truth be told, they did look good on her.

Although they had been made for Severus, when he was no doubt a young teenager, and although they were a little long for the petite Slayer, they settled just right on her slender body, making her look even more petite and dainty, trailing behind her.

Deep blue of a clear midnight sky, the only marking on them was a stylised silver 'S', which was embroidered onto the left breast. They were held shut by two round, matching silver buttons on each side of the breast, which were held together by narrow silver chains between them. 

"So you're telling me that nothing happened and you just figured you'd..." She spread her hands in a shrug. "I dunno...ditch these robes in my closet so I would have something kinda magic-person-style to wear?"

"I suppose that might be the gist of it," he agreed, smiling slightly.

He truly couldn't wait to see the look on Severus' face when it transpired that Buffy, his detested Summers, actually liked the robes and had insisted on wearing them, because - as Sev had noted - she did like blue.

Buffy looked down at her new ensemble, smoothing the robes with one hand. "Do they look okay?" she asked nervously, fingering a silver button. "I mean, people aren't gonna point and laugh at me, if they see me in 'em?"

Taking her by the arm and steering her forward, he assured her, "You look perfect, Buffy, and I'm sure everyone else will think so too."

"Really?" she asked plaintively.

Giles almost wanted to strangle the girl's fashion-conscious side. "Really."

***

"But we should have gone to dinner!"

Duncan grinned up at Dawn from the position where he was sitting on the floor of the bathroom. "After all the meals ye've made me miss, I think I've got every right to pull ye out of one meal."

Once more, they were in Moaning Myrtle's toilets and - much to Duncan's relief - the ghost was absent. She had really taken far too much of a liking to him in a way that had started to unnerve the boy a lot.

A book in his lap, a candle standing beside him in a small lantern, Duncan Cameron was sitting at the far end of the bathroom, leaning back against the wall. 

The dim light of evening was filtering through the round windows at the ends of the bathrooms, although barely bright enough for them to make one another out. It had been raining on and off all day, the sky overcast and the moon blotted out by cloud.

"So..." Dawn crossed her arms over her chest. "You know Buffy's gonna be way pissed if she finds out we left the room, right?"

Duncan gave her a knowing look. "Then we're gonnae have to make sure she disnae find out, won't we?" he replied, looking back down at the book he had in his lap. "And I couldnae show this to ye in the room, in case anyone walked in on us."

Now, THAT intrigued the Slayer's sister.

"What is it?" she asked, kneeling down beside him and peering at the book.

A smirk crossed Duncan's lips. "Fred and George mentioned this book just before they left and I managed to find it."

"Find...how?"

"Er...I...kinda borrowed it off one of the seventh years..." he replied sheepishly. "Which is kinda why we have tae look at it during dinner," Dawn looked blank, so he quickly added, "So he disnae miss it."

"You stole a book?"

"Not so loud!" Duncan exclaimed, looking around frantically as if he expected a teacher to leap out and charge him with some heinous crime or another. "And I didnae steal it! I borrowed it! There's a difference."

"Uh-huh..." Dawn rolled her eyes.

"Look, will ye just take a wee look at this potion and see what ye make of it?"

Leaning closed, Dawn started picking her way through the script in the hefty book, the scent the parchment making her nose itch. No doubt the seventh year who owned this book never looked at it, judging by the amount of dust trapped in it's pages.

Her eyes settled on the paragraph Duncan was clearly talking about, immediately going round in surprise.

"I can't believe adults actually told you about this book!" she whispered. 

"Well, they were the Weasley twins," Duncan admitted. "D'ye think ye could manage the potions mentioned?" She gave him a look. "All right, yes, that was a stupid question, but I just had to check, especially if we do this..."

Dawn was looking at the page again. "Y'know," she remarked, her eyes glimmering in a way that made her friend deeply uneasy and paranoid. "If we do this right, we might be able to sell some new stuff on to them..."

"That's what Fred say ye might say..." Duncan mumbled.

"Fred and George think that I'm good enough to make stuff for them?" Dawn squeaked enthusiastically. Her eyes lit up and she grabbed the book from her friend's hands. "Oh, we are _so_ making as many things as possible!"

Duncan shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to hide a small smile. "And George said ye'd say that," he added, although Dawn didn't notice, her nose already buried deep in the book of potions.

***

"She does seem a great deal more vibrant, does she not, Severus?"

Lifting his chin slightly, Severus Snape looked sidelong at Albus Dumbledore, who was seated just two seats away from him. The Head Master was beaming in the direction of the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, who was chatting animatedly with Granger and Flitwick.

"What was that, Head Master?"

Blue eyes turned to him. "Professor Summers is certainly looking more spry than she has in some time, wouldn't you agree?" he said mildly and Snape was practically positive the old man smirked.

Severus glared at Dumbledore, although he had been thinking along the same lines a few moments earlier. Not that he would ever admit, publicly or privately, to noticing that Summers looked anything but downright annoying.

From what he had heard, she had finally woken from her potion-induced quazi-coma only two hours earlier. It had taken her a good half hour to realise that she had been sleeping in the same piece of clothing for three full days.

Apparently, her screams of anguish had rung around Gryffindor Tower, when she had confronted a mirror in her room, called Bob allegedly, and been greeted with the bird's nest that seemed to have replaced her hair.

Bob had apparently screamed just as loudly, which hadn't helped matters.

Fortunately for all of them, she had managed to get her hair under some manner of control. It was currently twisted up and pinned in place up the back of her head, a few loose tendrils curling around her face and she looked like she had scrubbed herself until there was almost a glow radiating from her.

Although, judging from the warm energy pouring out from her in waves, perhaps the glow wasn't caused by excessive bathing.

Severus mentally chastised himself for even considering the possibility that Summers, the annoying little tramp that she was, had any kind of...glow around her, supernatural, natural energy or otherwise. 

He also had definitely and absolutely not noticed that she was wearing the robes he had gifted her miniature self. Positively had never noticed how they seemed to compliment her features. Utterly had not noticed how well they seemed to fit on her.

Growling under his breath, his attention returning to the plate in front of him, he drummed his knife impatiently on the table, wondering if it would be considered ill-mannered to depart barely halfway into the meal.

Of course, that was when he remembered that he didn't give a damn about manners.

Pushing his chair back with unnecessary force, knocking it over with a deafening crash, he stormed towards the side door and out of the Great Hall, aware of the rather surprised silence he had left behind him.

Leaning against the wall of the hallway, Severus closed his eyes, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists by his sides.

How could one person cause so much irritation?

She didn't even have to deign to look at him today and yet, she had still succeeded in driving him from the Great Hall with her innate...good energy that had been flooding the room, sweet and light and utterly agitating.

Running a hand through his hair, which was - like hers - washed and brushed for fear of her throwing him under a scalding shower again as she had threatened, he straightened up and shook his head.

He would work, he decided, and ignore the little hussy.

After all, it was almost time for the Christmas holidays and the majority of the pupils would be departing soon, which meant that he had a lot of work to grade, especially bearing in mind the time he had lost the night before, due to a certain...distraction.

Stalking off into the halls, towards one of the many twisting staircases that lead down to the dungeons, he told himself that he wouldn't let thoughts of the irritating little trollop affect him further.

Not a chance.

He would push her from his mind.

Completely and utterly ignoring any thought of her.

No, he really wasn't thinking about how annoying she was or how much he wished that he could hex her into next millennium or just how decent those damn robes of his had looked on her.

No, not thinking of her at all.

***

"Care to join me?"

Standing in the doorway of the massive study, Ben couldn't help staring at the man sitting on the opposite side of the mahogany desk, in front of the window on the other side of the room.

He had, after trying to escape, repeatedly found himself back in the room that had been his prison for several weeks and had decided that he would be wiser to simply give up any fight he had in him and allow Glory to do what she liked.

However, his door had opened barely moments after he had woken and a filthy little pillow-case-wearing creature with bat-like ears, a lumpy nose and bulbous terrified eyes had informed him that 'the Master' wished to see him.

Uncertain of who the Master was, he had pulled on clothes that had been left out for him and followed the creature - barefoot - down the wooden-floored halls of the mansion to this room.

'The Master' was seated behind a desk and he was possibly the most extravagant human that Ben had ever seen and, bearing in mind the things and places he had seen thanks to Glory, that was really saying a lot. 

The rain-drenched moonlight gleamed in a soft, silvery halo on the man's long, silver-blond hair, which hung elegantly around a pale, cold, gentlemanly face. Cool grey eyes regarded him from half-closed lids, one elbow propped on the arm of the chair, black-gloved fingers casually resting against his jawline.

His clothing could only be described as flamboyant. He looked like a dandy come to life, in a flared white shirt and tight-fitting black breeches. Feet clad in knee-high boots were propped on the edge of the desk in a pose of lazy casualness.

However, the cruel, calculating glimmer in his grey eyes suggested there was nothing vaguely lazy, casual or dandyish about the man.

"Who are you?" Ben asked cautiously, shifting his feet awkwardly on the cold floor.

The floor of the study was stone, unlike the corridors outside, and that polished stone was icy against his soles.

The corner of the man's lips lifted. "The Master of this house," he replied, swinging his feet down from the desk and rising. He motioned towards the fireplace, where a blaze immediately sprang up. "Join me?"

Although it was said as a question, Ben knew it was meant as an order and complied.

Gesturing to one of the two seats by the gaping fireplace, the man's smirk was starting to unnerve Ben a great deal. He sat, the man retrieving a glass of what looked like wine or some kind of clear liquid from the fireplace and taking the opposite seat, leaning back in that same casual fashion. 

A startled cry escaped Ben as iron bands snapped around his arms and chest, pinning him into the seat.

Swirling the drink in his glass, the silver-haired man didn't even look at Ben. "I hear you are the host for my rather charming associate," he remarked, holding the glass up to the light of the flames and studying it from all angles.

"What's it to you?" Ben gasped, as the bands bit tighter into him.

Grey eyes drifted to him. "I'm awfully interested in you, you see," the Master of the house replied. "And I do so detest rudeness, so if you would..." He made a casual gesture with one hand. "Humour me, perhaps, I'm sure that this interview will be a...less painful experience for both of us."

Panting, as the bands grew tighter still around his chest and wrists, Ben nodded. "Okay! Sure! I'll talk to you!"

"I know you will, dear boy," the Master chuckled. Rising smoothly to his feet like some kind of big cat, he gazed down at Ben. "However, I do suppose that once you've had a drink of veritaserum, you will be more than willing to tell me everything you know about you, your feelings about your Mistress and the experience of being a body-sharer."

"She'll know you did this," Ben gasped.

This time, the Master of the house laughed, a sound chilling and devoid of humour. He squatted down in front of Ben's chair, gazing up at him. "My dear boy," he murmured. "I thought you would have realised by now."

"Realised...what?"

The man smiled. It was like facing off with a great white shark. "Realised," he replied cheerfully. "That your lady gave me permission."

Ben stared at him. Okay, he knew Glory was screwed up, but letting a human in on all of her secrets? Like she would let that happen! Unless she really trusted the human and that had never happened.

Until now, apparently.

Unfortunately, though, being chained to a chair meant he was at a distinct disadvantage, which became all the more painfully clear, when a hand under his chin jerked his head up and the contents of the glass were forcefully poured down his throat. 

Gagging and choking, he couldn't help swallowing a little of the fluid. It felt like his mind had gone white the second he did so and he vaguely registered the man sitting back down, opposite him.

"So," the Master of the house said. "Tell me about Glory."

***

"So they're back on speaking terms?"

"Mmm-hmm," Spike acknowledged.

"And you're taking your time."

"Mmm."

"Would you mind hurrying up?"

Straightening up, the blond vampire turned to his companion. "Look, kitten, if you plan on cheating anymore, I'm just not gonna play."

Minerva McGonagall gave the vampire a shocked look. "Cheat? Me? Billy, for shame, how can you imply such a thing?"

Spike looked down at her snooker cue, which was poking against his knee. "Hmm," he remarked dryly. "I wonder." The witch immediately lifted it away, with an expression of mock-innocence that would have made Saints die laughing.

The odd pair was in the games-room that had been set up by Dumbledore on the special request of Dawn Summers and they had decided to take advantage of the fact that no one else was using it.

Currently, McGonagall was beating Spike seven games to two on the snooker table and she had beaten him hands down at Foosball and the Space Hockey games, which had lead to much vehement complaining that she was cheating and using her wand.

To prove a point, her wand had been placed on the fireplace and she hadn't touched it.

Instead, she had used the cue to rile the vampire in various other ways.

On top of that, she really was a very good snooker player.

"I'll behave," she promised, smirking.

Spike rolled his eyes at her and turned to take his shot. The cue ball ricocheted off the cushion and went into a corner pocket, initiating another bout of colourful swearing from the blond.

"You really are awful at this game," Minerva said, retrieving the white and immediately potting a rapid succession of colours, then the black. Straightening up, she gave him a smug smile. "And I believe you owe me."

Spike glared at the table, as if it had betrayed him. "Make it best of twenty!"

"Not a chance, Billy," she extended a hand, palm up. "I won fair and square and I would be much obliged if you would give me what you owe."

Scowling and grumbling loudly, Spike dug out a roll of film and handed it on to the Deputy Head Mistress, who gave him a smug smirk. "I'm sure that Miss Weasley and Professor Granger will be most interested in knowing that you have been sneaking into their chambers while they were sleeping. And with a camera, no less!"

"Hey! I'm a red-blooded male!" An eyebrow rose in his direction. "Okay, I'm a horny vampire who doesn't mind watching a bit of girl-girl action. It's not my fault that I just happened to be carrying a camera..."

"Or that you happened to point it at them and take several films worth of pictures."

"Just a fluke, one in a million chance," the vampire agreed. He paused, then gave her his best puppydog look. "Any chance of me getting a few copies to keep? Y'know, just as a memory of that one night of huge coincidence that involved naked witches, me being there by accident, the camera, chocolate...?"

Minerva cleared her throat. "Chocolate?"

"Didn't they have it when you were you, back in the Dark Ages?"

"This coming from the vampire who is fifty years older than I am?"

Spike groaned. "Ran into that like a brick wall."

Minerva smirked at him. "I would certainly say so," she agreed, pocketing the film. "As for this film, I will be handing it on to Professor Granger and Miss Weasley, with your kindest regards."

"And a set of the pictures, eh?"

"Billy, my lad, you are a perverted demon to the last," she sighed. 

Spike made a bow. "And I thank you for the compliments my lady."

"Twit," she added. "And now, I think I'm going to retire for the night, as I do have a rather early start in the morning."

"Scared to try another game, Minnie?"

"Bored of beating you into submission so very easily, Billy," she replied, retrieving her wand. "I bid you good night."

Spike smiled politely at her. "And I'll make sure to ask Red for that film back."

"You do that," McGonagall said. "I'm sure she'll hand it back to you once you tell her what it is."

Smiling an oddly innocent smile, Spike stuck his hands in his pockets. "Of course she will, kitten," he replied amiably. "G'night." The door closed and he grinned. "So, Niblet, did you get it?"

There was a swish of material and Dawn appeared from under the invisibility cloak, a small film canister held in one hand, a broad grin on her face. "If this is what you meant, yeah! She didn't even notice."

Catching it as she tossed it to him, he arched a brow at the dark-haired girl. "You never fail to surprise me. Nicking a film right out a teacher's pocket," he said. "You never know - we might have to sign you up for a life of crime."

"Nah," Dawn replied. "I'm gonna stick with potions just now. Too many way fun things to make."

"Nothing...dangerous?"

Dawn made a dismissive gesture. "Pfft! As if! Just crazy potions. The dangerous stuff is way icky and smells gross too...at least that's what Professor Snape said."

"Good recovery, Nibbles," Spike smirked. "So...you best be getting back to bed, while I go and get this developed."

"What is it anyway? You were joking about the Willow and Hermione thing, right?"

"Of course!" Spike exclaimed, hand on his unbeating heart. "Do I honestly look like the type who would perv on two girls and...actually, forget that excuse. Do I look like the kind of vampire who knows how to take photographs?"

The teenager rolled her eyes. "I should be getting back to bed now, anyway, Spike," she said, shaking out the invisibility cloak. "You know how freaked Buffy gets if she wakes up and I'm not there."

"Night, Nibbles."

The door opened and closed again and the vampire grinned at the plastic tube in his hand, which contained the photographic evidence of Willow and Hermione's affair. All right, it was just them sleeping, but still, they were righteously cute together.

It would always be fun to tease them.

Dropping the film into the pocket of his jeans, he took one last look around the room and muttered the password to dim the flaming torches, then slipped out into the dark of the halls and away to his room.

***

"Find out anything useful, baby?"

Looking up from the parchment he was writing on, Lucius Malfoy smiled slightly as his lover snapped the metal bands binding her to the chair and rose to her feet. "A good deal of very interesting and potentially useful information."

"Like where my key might have gone?"

"Indeed," Lucius murmured, motioning for her to join him by the desk, as he continued to write with an eagle's feather quill. "I do recall that you said that the Slayer was the one protecting this...key of yours, was she not?"

"Yup." Glory sat down on the edge of the desk, brushing her hair back from her face.

A slow, chilling smile crossed Malfoy's face. "While I am aware that our attempts to reach the Slayer have been thwarted," he said, not raising his eyes from his page. "We do have a little additional information."

"Oh?"

"It would certainly appear to be the case," Lucius replied. "While the Slayer may be protected by high magics now, I do believe we might be able to...persuade her to listen to us, if we develop our negotiation technique."

Glory raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

"Well," he said, leaning back in the seat. "You see, our wonderful heroine was not alone when she went to the school to teach. Several friends accompanied her and I have heard that her sister is also present."

"Her sister..." A gleeful grin crossed Glory's pretty face. "I remember her. Cute as a little button. What do you have in mind for her?"

Lucius spread his hands, his lips curling in a smile. "Oh, I was thinking of the usual," he replied casually. "Kidnap, possibly a touch of torture followed by a little murder, although it may have to wait until she finds a breach in their security."

"Those new spells are still holding, huh?"

He grimaced. "You could say that. Apparently, no one can cross into school grounds without permission and should they attempt to force the issue, they will find themselves physically expelled with great force."

Sliding off the edge of the desk, Glory draped herself across Lucius Malfoy's lap, sliding an arm around his neck and toying with his long hair. "And how is our little girl doin' in her task?"

"I do believe she is close to discovering the whereabouts of the key," Lucius replied, eyes slitted, as her fingers wandered up and down the back of his neck.

"Well, that's good news, ain't it, cutie?"

"I certainly would concur with that assessment of the situation."

Blue-green eyes studied grey for a long moment, before Glory dropped a feathery kiss on his lips. "Sweetie, you've had a busy evening," she remarked. "And I'm horny as hell, so can we do stuff?"

Lucius chuckled. "You have such...captivating phrasing, my dear Goddess."

She smirked at him. "Look whose talkin', cutie-patootie."

"Is that an indication that I must shut you up?"

Before she could reply, their lips met in a fierce kiss.

***

Whispering the password to Hermione and Willow's room, Dawn glanced up and down the hall, making sure there was no sign of the vampire whome she hoped hadn't caught on to what she had done yet.

The painting swung open and she slipped through the opening, running lightly up the circular staircase towards the bedroom that the two witches shared, her fingers closed around a certain item.

The door of the room at the top of the staircase was slightly open, which Dawn took as a cue not to knock and walked into the room, her eyes going wide as she found Willow Weasley and Hermione Granger in a bit of a warm situation.

Although, warm in the sense that they were severely lacking in the clothing department.

Pyjamas were strewn on the floor and chair beside the bed and both witches looked like they were fast asleep, curled under the pale, silky sheet on one of the beds, Hermione spooned behind Willow, her cheek resting against the red head's.

The older woman's arm was looped around Willow's waist possessively and the red-haired woman's hand was resting lightly on Hermione's softly tanned forearm. She had a peaceful smile on her face.

Taking a step back, Dawn's foot caught on the end of the borrowed invisibility cloak and she stumbled, knocking the door shut with a bang.

Hermione was on her feet, wand raised, in a heartbeat and Dawn uttered a squeal of embarrassment, covering her eyes.

If she had doubted that anything had happened between the two witches before, the blindingly obvious love-bite on Hermione's belly assured her that they had - indeed - been partaking in smoochies.

Or, they had become members of some belly-sucking cult, but Dawn felt pretty sure that she knew which it was.

"Dawnie?" Willow mumbled sleepily, sitting up in the bed, as Hermione summoned her bathrobe and pulled it on, blushing slightly.

"You!" Dawn squeaked, pointing at them, then realising that she still had the cloak on. Yanking it off, she pointed from one tot the other. "You...and you...in the bed...making with the smoochies!"

"Us?" Willow was bolt upright in a blink. "Us? Smoochies? No! Way big no! And in the bed? We were just sleeping! And I am so not good at lying...yes, we were making with the smoochies."

An awed look crossed Dawn's face. "This is so cool!" she gasped, a broad smile crossing her face. "I shoulda guessed! I mean, you two are so alike! How could you not like-like each other?"

Willow and Hermione exchanged bemused glances. "You're not uber-wigged?"

"Wigged? No way! This is beyond cool!"

Hermione actually smiled. "Never thought we'd get that reaction."

"Hey," Dawn laughed. "I'm the easy one to deal with. I know Buffy'll be way wigged, so I'm not. It makes her go nuts when something seriously gives her a wiggins and I don't get wigged by it."

The two witches couldn't help laughing, as Willow summoned her own dressing gown and slid out of the bed. "So, what did you wanna come up here for at this time of night anyway, Dawnie?"

"Spike," Dawn replied. "He's been up here for blackmail material. He took pictures."

The teenager was sure she saw a deep blush flood Willow's cheeks. "So what's he gonna do with them?" the red head asked, tying her dressing gown cord with hands that were shaking. 

A small object was tossed across the room and Willow caught it. 

A film.

"Nothing," Dawn replied, grinning. "But he doesn't know that yet."

***

Withdrawing the film tube out of his pocket, Spike sat down on the edge of his bed in his hidden room, giving the little container a shake.

He had intended hunting down one of the Ravenclaw fifth years who was known throughout the school to be an avid photographer, in order to get the film developed, but it would have to wait until morning.

He rattled the tube again, a frown crossing his features.

It was the right weight, but something didn't sound right about the rattle.

But Dawnie, the niblet, his sidekick had been the one to pickpocket Minnie and she would never, ever in a month of Sundays pull a double-cross on him. Or at least, he didn't think she would have the nerve.

Lifting the plastic tube up close to his face, he narrowed his eyes and cautiously peeled up the edge of the lid.

Emerald-green fluid sprayed out of the tiny tube, all over his face, the vampire gagging and yelling in surprise. In the battle painting on the wall behind him, some of the soldiers stopped fighting to watch and started laughing.

Hurling the plastic tube away from his face, he blindly groped for one of his sheets and dried the goop off, wondering just what the little minx had slipped in, in place of the film when he wasn't looking.

The giggling soldiers in the picture were getting louder by the second and he turned to them, only to have one of the commanders shriek hysterically and fall off the horse he was on, rolling around in the mire and laughing like a hyena.

Raising a hand to his face, Spike moaned. "I'm gonna kill you, Niblet!"

___________________________________

Well, it's shorter than the previous ones, so that's something - oh, and its going to be at least a fortnight until my next update - I'm going to be out of the country for a week and when I get back, I'll be writing up my dissertation first chapter (How I wish I had chosen Harry Potter as much subject now!)

However, for those of you who must know, coming in the next chapter of The Eighth Weasley - Hermione and Willow have to deal with some...awkward speculation, Buffy sees something rather unexpected, Spike's new...look surprises a few people and much more...


	44. Reflected Reassurance

REFLECTED REASSURANCE

Notes: Okay. This is one of the few chapters that wasn't intended to happen and then, something twisted in the Xander/Anya thing earlier than intended, a chapter became irrelevant and was removed, so this was the replacement, so we were still left with the neat 75 that I have had planned for months. Plus, I wanted to get the ideas in this in somewhere pre-chapter 45 and hey! It worked :D Bit of a surprise ch. for me, I adore the content :D

____________________________

Winter had descended suddenly on Hogwarts.

During the night, a storm had rushed in from the sea, coating the whole school in a thick lair of powdery snow. With the clear skies outside, the sunlight reflected into the Hall, brighter than usual.

Walking into the Great Hall, Hermione couldn't help notice the flurry of whispers that spread around her. It felt like almost every eye in the hall was on her and it was a feeling she didn't like at all.

Briskly striding down, towards the High Table, she tried to ignore the looks and shot a furtive glance at Willow, wondering if her lover was as aware of the pointed stares as she was.

Apparently she was.

The red-haired witch had her head ducked over a barely-touched bowl of cereal and she wasn't looking anywhere but the table in front of her.

It was a little unnerving.

How did everyone know? 

Surely Willow wouldn't have told anyone else about their clandestine relationship without telling her first. And Dawn... she knew better than to run off and tell her classmates about it...

Approaching the additional table, Hermione paused beside her lover. Another rush of hushed conversation broke out and she flashed an angry look around the hall, all the voices falling silent.

So, she realised, judging by the impassive expressions of the other teachers at the High Table, it was only the pupils who knew about them. Either that, or the teachers were taking the news better than expected.

Somehow, she was more convinced of the former than the latter.

"Hermione!"

The hasty hiss from the end of the Gryffindor table made her look around. Dawn was beckoning her frantically, an apologetic look on her face. Resisting the urge to pull out her wand and jinx the girl, Hermione forced a smile and approached.

"Dawn," she said cordially.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," the dark-haired teenager whispered, her face marked with anguish. "I-I was kinda talking to Duncan in the bathroom and Myrtle overheard and she thought it was funny, so she told Peeves...something about wanting to get back at you for ignoring her..."

Oh, marvellous.

"Let me guess," the Professor said in a somewhat less-than-normal voice. "He has been floating around all the Common Rooms and making sure that everyone know with a whole song about us..."

"And dance routine with backing vocals from Myrtle..." Dawn winced.

Hermione massaged her temples with her fingertips, in an attempt to stave off the impending headache she could already feel brewing. "I didn't realise she hated me that much," she muttered, shaking her head.

"Hate you?" Dawn squeaked. "No! Nonono! She doesn't hate you! She just wants to get your attention again!"

"My...attention?"

A pink glow flooded Dawn's cheeks and she suddenly seemed to find her breakfast plates enormously interesting. "Um...Myrtle...she...um...she's like...she doesn't just like Duncan..."

"Oh...dear..." Hermione mumbled, clearing her throat. "Right...well..." She flashed a forced smile at Dawn. "If you see Myrtle, tell her to come to the staff room and see me, if it's so important."

"Kay," Dawn nodded. "And...you're not mad at me, are you?"

"You? Of course not, Dawn!" Hermione exclaimed, squeezing Dawn's shoulders affectionately. "Although, Peeves had better look out, because if he comes anywhere near me, poltergeist or not, I'm going to wring his neck."

Leaving the teenager to her breakfast, the Professor of Muggle Studies turned her attention back to the High Table, hurrying up to her seat. As she passed Willow, she lightly squeezed the back of her lover's neck.

As she took her seat, she shot a look down at Willow, who didn't even look at her, her eyes still fixed on her plate, her expression one of misery.

Odd.

Normally, Willow would smile broadly up at her. She had been in such a good mood when she had left their room this morning, so what could have happened to lower her girlfriend's spirits so much?

Yes, it was a bit of a shock to find out that almost all the students knew about them, but Willow had always been the one asking when they could reveal their relationship to the world.

Was it possible...was...could it be that she was disappointed now?

Was she hoping to keep it a secret permanently?

Did that mean that she wasn't as happy as she had claimed to be?

Hermione's face fell at the thought, the fleeting memory of her other lover crossing her mind. 

His words, when she had asked if they were going to go public, still stung: "You're good fun for a tumble in the hay, Herm, but be serious...you're not the kind of person anyone would want to be in a relationship with."

Maybe he had been right.

After all, Viktor and Ron had acted the same way.

Everything had been great at first, then...

Then, everything was turned on it's head and, within weeks of that happening, both relationships had floundered.

It couldn't be them, she knew.

After all, since then, Viktor had got married only a year after they had parted ways and was now a father, twice over. Her other lover, from the Ministry, had also married one of his employer's daughters.

Something, she mused as she picked at a dry piece of toast, had to be wrong with her, since every one of her relationships had crumbled around her.

Her eyes prickled and she bit her lower lip. 

Maybe, she thought sadly, she should save Willow the heartache of tolerating a long sham of a relationship, before breaking up just after it became public. If it protected Willow from any hurt, she knew she would break her own heart.

Staring sightlessly at the piece of toast she was holding, her eyes still burning, she drew a slow breath. They would have to talk it through and hopefully, Willow would understand why.

Correction, Willow would probably be relieved about it, judging by the dejected look on her face.

Sadly, turning her attention to her toast, she picked up a knife and dipped it into the marmalade, then scraped it over the cooling toast. She felt stinging warmth of barely noticeable tears rolling silently down her cheeks.

She did not, however, notice two pairs of concerned eyes watching her.

***

"Knock knock!"

With his back to the open door of the classroom, Snape raised his eyes ceilingwards in a silent plea for mercy. "Summers," he said, not turning. "That most certainly does not qualify as knocking on the door."

"And look who got outta the wrong side of bed this morning," she retorted chirpily.

By Merlin, he wanted to strangle her.

Standing in the narrow slats of dusty light that cut in through the thin, high windows of the dungeon classroom, Severus slowly turned around to face his personal gnat, a long breath being exhaled.

Calm.

He would remain calm and civilised.

He would not grab his nearest textbook and hurl it at her.

"May I know why you have decided to torment me, so early in the day?"

The petite blonde flashed a grin at him, strolling into the room. "You're really not a morning person, are you, Crankenstein?"

Much to his irritated observation, she was wearing his old robes once again, loosely fastened between her breasts and perfectly matched with her deep blue trousers and white shirt. 

Perhaps, she was lucky that her clothing had distracted him, because otherwise the Crankenstein jibe would have cast him across the line between sanity and madness and a book would have rapidly flown at her head.

Or a cauldron.

Preferably one of the big ones.

"Summers..." he snapped. "If there is a reason for you being here, do inform me, or do me the great courtesy of departing immediately."

"I thought I'd drop by because you haven't been at many meals and I hadn't been down here in a while and figured that you might be missing me," she replied, ignoring his snort of disdain. "So...d'you miss me?"

"Summers, I miss you as much as I would miss a shattered femur."

Hazel eyes glimmered with amusement in the dust-captured light of the classroom, as she reached the desk in front of him and leaned her hip against it. "So, in a kinda roundabout way, you do miss me..."

"Summers..."

She laughed, the sound ringing like a thousand annoying tiny bells off the arched sections of the roof. "Oh, c'mon, Snapey! You gotta lighten up! We get rid of most of the kids in the next coupla days. Don't tell me you're not looking forward to it."

Severus made a noncommittal sound in his throat, turning his attention to the scrolls and books piled on his desk.

"That's what I came down for, too," she continued cheerfully. Damnit. All because of that blasted potion, she was ten times more lively and irritating than she had ever managed to be before. "You're staying here over Christmas, right?"

Again he said nothing.

"See," she rambled on, her voice cutting through his attempts to disregard her like a hot knife through butter. Despite mentally screaming at her to be silent, nothing worked and he reluctantly turned to face her. "Professor Dumbledore told me that you always stay at Hogwarts for Christmas vacation and me and Dawnie...we kinda have to stay this year, in case Glory is watching our home in Sunnydale and mom can't come, in case Glory follows her..."

"Do you intend to reach to point of this discourse any time in the near future?"

Summers chuckled. "You really are a cranky jerk, y'know," she remarked, cocking her head at him as she straightened up. "And yes, I do plan on getting to the point. We have to stay here. You always stay. Wanna have Christmas dinner with us?"

"Not particularly."

She stepped right in front of him, grinning that annoying, smug, American grin. "I don't wanna be...well, yeah, I do wanna be the one to break it to you, Snapey, but you promised the Head Master you would come to Christmas day meals. You just have to choose if you wanna sit with me and Dawnie or with him..."

"Or there is the option of hanging myself from the decorations."

"Not really a Christmas kinda guy, huh?"

He stared at her implacably. "I think you will find that it is more about being given a choice of torment in two different dimensions of Hell," he replied coldly. "The old and irritating or the young and equally irritating."

"Since Dumble has been irritating you longer than I have, I'll let that one slide," she grinned up at him. "And trust me, Hell is way worse than anything I could give you. I should know. I was there."

"You were in Hell," he echoed. "Somehow, I am not surprised."

"You don't believe me, huh?" Crossing her arms over her chest, she gazed up at him steadily, her expression frighteningly old in it's intensity. "I was there all right. In a Hell where people are forced to work all day, tormented by the knowledge that they are being forgotten by their loved ones. I was there for less than an hour, but it was enough. Getting out of there was the thing that let me go back. Hell was the thing that showed me that there were good things in life. Things worth fighting for."

Severus stared at her, uncertain what to think.

"Oh, and there was that one time I dived into the Hellmouth," she added, her tone lightening immediately. "And do I even have to say gross? I mean, ew! The stuff I saw down there was just uber-wiggy! Way glad I managed to stop it opening. The stuff inside was worse than the stuff that almost came out when we were at school..."

Black eyes blinked at her in sheer bewilderment.

"So...since Christmas dinner isn't going to be Hell, you're gonna sit with us, me and Dawnie, right? I think that's a yes, yeah? Okay! Great!" She tapped him in the centre of his chest, beaming. "It's gonna be fun!"

That said, she seemed to bounce all the way out of the classroom, leaving a rather puzzled Potions Professor standing by his desk, his face contorted in an expression of abject confusion.

Shaking his head slowly, one hand rose to touch the spot on his chest, where she had poked him. "She really is by far the most irritating little creature I have ever met," he remarked to himself.

Still, as he sat down at his desk, his fingertips still lingered on the spot where she had touched his chest.

***

Lunchtime had arrived and Willow still hadn't been able to bring herself to approach her lover.

Checking that the other girl's familiar face wasn't present at the head of the hall, Willow kept her eyes on the floor as she moved towards the table that she shared with her friends.

She had seen the dark look that Hermione had flashed around the Great Hall at breakfast and if the brown-haired witch had been so angry about their secret coming out, did it mean she didn't want anyone to know?

When Hermione had squeezed the back of her neck as she passed behind Willow at breakfast, Willow had been convinced that it was a small sign of her annoyance at their being 'outed'.

Was she so bad that Hermione didn't want anyone to know about her?

Chewing on her lower lip, she slid into her seat, not even raising her face to the other occupants of the table, who were chatting amiably amongst themselves.

"Hey, Wills!"

One corner of her mouth lifted slightly as she raised her eyes to Xander. "Hey."

"What's up? You look like you just got told you're gonna get kicked outta school."

She shook her head and picked up her fork, poking absently at the stew and potatoes that had appeared on her plate. "Nothing," she replied distantly, watching the gravy swirl around the meat and vegetables. "I'm good."

"Uh...huh..."

"You don't look good," Anya added.

"An," Xander muttered under his breath.

Anya sighed the patient, long-suffering sigh of someone humouring a person who didn't understand what they were talking about. "Well, she doesn't, Xander. Maybe she hasn't noticed!"

"I noticed," Willow said glumly. "It's no big deal."

"Then why the long face, Wills? Failed a paper or something?" Willow shook her head, pushing a pea under the gravy with one prong of her fork and watching it sink without trace. "Wills?"

"Just thinking."

"Is this about your orgasm friend?"

"Anya!" Xander exclaimed.

"What? When people are cranky or depressed, it's usually because they haven't had enough orgasms."

"I know, An, but can you please not mention sex when there are kids here?"

There was a silence, then Anya seemed to catch up. "Oh!" she squeaked, apparently a little flustered. "Oh right! I didn't realise that using the term orgasm would be offensive in public..."

"Not exactly offensive," Xander murmured. "But kids might not know what it means and I don't wanna be the one to explain."

"Okay," Anya agreed brightly. "So...Willow, since you're all...mopey and stuff, I'm betting you haven't got laid for a while."

"Anya!"

"I can't mention getting laid now, either?" Anya asked, in an injured tone.

"Maybe we should...y'know...change the subject," Willow suggested half-heartedly, mention of sex, love and relationships making it feel like a giant hand had clamped around her heart.

Anya started to protest, but Xander laid a hand on his ex-girlfriend's to silence her and nodded across the table to Willow. "Yeah, Wills," he said comfortingly. "So... whaddya want to talk about?"

The red-haired witch shrugged. "Anything except that," she replied sadly.

Opposite her, Anya and Xander exchanged concerned looks.

***

"We have to do something."

In the Gryffindor Common Room, Dawn was sitting at the corner table, staring out on the snow-covered grounds of the school, watching a group of Hufflepuffs having a snowball fight.

She was wearing a thick, woolly red sweater, provided by the Scottish boy sitting with her, over her baby-T, and shirt, the icy winter weather far colder than her limited wardrobe had catered for.

Duncan nodded in agreement. "After all, it is kinda our fault that everyone knows about it and they've fallen out."

"I don't think they've fallen out," Dawn murmured, her breath misting the panes of the window. "I think...I dunno...I think they're both so scared of what they've got. I know that both of them had bad relationship stuff before, so maybe they're worried that the other deserves something better than them."

"But they're both great!" Duncan exclaimed. "And so pretty! And nice!"

"Yeah," Dawn said, drumming her fingertips on the table in front of her. "But they both have real bad issues with self-esteem. They both think they're everything ungreat and that there are better people out there for them."

"So what do we do?"

Nibbling on her lower lip pensively, Dawn glanced back at the window, catching a brief glimpse of her reflection in the glass.

Suddenly, her eyes went wide. "I got an idea!"

Duncan's face went a shade paler. "It doesn't involve polyjuice, does it?"

"No!" Dawn exclaimed, leaping to her feet. "But we're gonna need to get help from some of the teachers and I think we'll need more than just us to convince Dumbledore to let us do it..."

The Scottish boy gave her a curious look. "What are you up to?"

"You'll see," Dawn said, grabbing his arm and hauling him onto his feet. "C'mon! We have to hurry."

As he was dragged out of the common room, Duncan moaned. "I have a feeling I'm gonnae regret this..."

***

"Well, well, what have we here..."

Minerva glared at the painting. "I would suggest that you shut up," she said. "I'm not in the mood for dealing with you right now."

"Haven't got laid for a while, eh?" the painting inquired, grinning at her and she was tempted to whip out her wand and give the occupant a makeover, involving flapping shoes, a red nose and voluminous rainbow trousers.

"Be quiet!" she snapped.

The painting snickered. "Looks like I'm right, then," it said. "Whatcha wanting?"

"Let me in."

"Gimme the password and I'll think about it."

Pursing her lips, McGonagall narrowed her eyes. "I'm the Deputy Head Mistress of this school," she said coldly. "Open the door."

"Nope, that's wrong."

"Right," she snapped. "I don't need to deal with you. I know he can hear me through this canvas." Raising her voice, she called out, "Billy!"

"Sod off!" the reply came from behind the painting, making the occupant smirk at her knowingly. Her fingers were itching to teach the occupant a lesson, but decorum - and lack of a decent spell - prevailed.

Professor Minerva McGonagall was a patient woman for the most part, but standing in a draughty corridor, with breezes whooshing down and slapping her skirts around her ankles, as well as a loudmouth painting winding her up, she really wasn't in the best of moods.

"Billy, you better open this door now, or I'll make you regret it!"

There was a scuffling sound from inside. "Whaddya want, Minnie? I'm not opening the door unless it's important."

"William," she snapped. "Weasley and Granger look like they are feeling that their significant other deserves better. I do honestly believe that they will separate because both think the other is too good for them."

There was a silence on the other side of the door.

"They're wrong."

Minerva rolled her eyes, her arms folded, fingers drumming impatient on her upper arms. "I know that and you know that and every pupil in this school knows that," she said, her voice rising in pitch. "But they don't and they are going to throw away a remarkable relationship if we don't stop them."

There was another silence, then the click of the painting being slipped free and it started to open.

"Thank goodness," she began. "I almost thought..."

Spike looked gloomily out at her from the candle-lit room. 

A choked giggle escaped her.

"Don't even say it, Minnie," he said miserably, looking as pathetic as it was possible for him to look.

Even if she had wanted to say whatever 'it' was, Professor Minerva McGonagall, the Deputy Head Mistress and prim and proper school-marm, was laughing so hard that she could not form a coherent word, no matter how hard she tried.

***

Sorting through his collection of Chocolate Frog cards, Albus Dumbledore was - as usual - unsurprised when the door of his office opened inwards and a party of people hurried in.

It was, however, the members of that party that caused a bushy eyebrow to rise.

"Minerva...William...Miss Summers...Mr Cameron..." Stacking his cards neatly, he motioned the closer to the desk, the vampire edging around the patches of sunlight on the floor, a blanket over his head. "How may I help you?"

"It's Willow and Hermione!" Dawn Summers burst out. "We...we kinda accidentally let Myrtle know about them and she told Peeves and now, everyone knows and they have stopped talking! We think they're gonna break up."

Dumbledore folded his hands. "Indeed?"

"Albus," Minerva laid a hand on Dawn's shoulder, to calm her. "None of us want to see those two young ladies hurt, but if we don't do something, they are going to ruin this special relationship they have, because of their own insecurities."

"Minerva, you of all people ought to know that I cannot change a person's feelings."

The Deputy Head Mistress gave him one of her patented glares. "Albus, this is not a matter of toying with their feelings. We know they care for one another. It's a matter of showing them that the other cares equally and they do deserve each other."

"I do not see what you think I can do about it, Minerva."

"Yeah, right," William muttered from under the blanket.

Dumbledore gave the vampire a curious look. "If I may ask..."

"Don't," the vampire replied, raising a hand to silence him, as Minerva, Dawn and Duncan started snickering behind him. "It's not pleasant."

"Oh, go on, Spike!" Dawn laughed. "Show the Head Master! He might be able to figure out why it hasn't worn off yet."

William deliberated for several seconds, then raised his hands and lowered the blanket from his head, revealing...

"You do realise that you look rather...odd?"

Gold eyes glared up at the chuckling Head Master. "Of course I do, you bloody great nit!" he lisped around centralised fangs that were overhanging his lower lip. "As if vamping normally wasn't bad enough..."

"If I may ask, what happened?"

"Potion...accidentally..." Dawn mumbled, going a little pink in the face. "I...he was going to blackmail Hermione and Willow..."

"Bit!" William groaned. "You weren't meant to mention that. And you," he pointed at the Head master. "Got any reason that it would have stayed like this, this long?"

"I would assume that the potion was a new one, not based on anything that Professor Snape uses in the texts?" Dumbledore said, struggling not to smile. Dawn nodded her head. "I would let it remain for twenty-four hours and, if it has not worn off by then, I would seek out aid from Severus."

"Bloody marvellous, that is," William mumbled, then sighed. "Right, so, Professor, the Niblet had a damn good idea about something we could to get our favourite pair of girlies to stay together."

"Indeed?" Dumbledore looked towards Minerva, who nodded in agreement.

Before he could ask, though, the door of the office swung open again, Xander and Anya dashing in, breathless. 

"Professor! Willow isn't getting any orgasms and we think..." Anya's words trailed off into silence and she went rigid. The colour drained from her face and she uttered a squeak of terror, pointing at William. "No..."

The vampire gaped at her, taking a step towards her. "Demon-girl?"

"STAY BACK!" she screeched, diving behind Xander. "Keep it away!"

Xander looked from the young woman cringing behind him to the vampire in front of him and then, appeared to work out what was troubling her. "Spike, can you kinda cover yourself...?"

Dumbledore couldn't hide a small smile as Xander protectively let Anya hide her face in his shoulder and burrow against him. It was reassuring to see that their parting hadn't caused too much hurt on either side.

The vampire's confused expression looked utterly ridiculous with his face looking like it did, covered in fluffy white fur. His nose was pulled up, pink and had whiskers beneath it. Tall ears stood up on each side of his head, his long fangs making him like a rabbit version of Nosferatu.

"Omigod! Anya's got a rabbit phobia!" Dawn exclaimed. "Spike! Put the blanket back on!"

Grumbling bitterly as he forced the ears flat, William pulled the blanket back over his head. "Niblet, have I mentioned that I hate you with a fiery passion and when I get this chip out, I'm gonna eat you?"

"Not for...oh...a week?" Dawn grinned at him. "Anyways, what were you guys saying about Willow?"

Xander had one armed draped around Anya, reassuringly, as he replied. "Willow was way depressed at dinner. An told me that he and Hermione got together and now, they might be breaking up. Hermione looks as depressed about it as Wills, so I don't think they wanna break up."

"Red and the Prof both can't get over the idea that they're not good enough for each other and it's gonna break them," William said from under his blanket. "That's why we're here. I didn't get 'em together for them to break up a couple of weeks later."

"And you were saying something about Miss Summers having an idea?" the Head Master said.

Minerva nodded. "It really is astoundingly simple, and yet, I doubt any of us would have had the foresight to think of it," she said, gently steering Dawn forward. "Go on, Miss Summers."

"Um...you won't be mad if you don't like this, right?"

"Of course not, Miss Summers."

"Well..." Twisting her hands together nervously, Dawn cleared her throat. "This is what I was thinking we could do..."

***

Sitting in the open quad in the middle of the school, wearing thick warm robes and several layers of shirts and sweaters to stave off the cold, Willow was pretending to read a Charms book she had borrowed from the library.

The previous three nights had been her worst at Hogwarts.

She and Hermione had barely been able to speak for the tension between them. She had wanted to explain and then let that be that, but no words would come out.

They hadn't even been able to face sleeping in the same bed, not since their secret had been made public, and, for the first time since the bathroom, they had not shared a goodnight kiss, which hurt more than she could bear.

Willow had never been more grateful for vacation time than she was now.

With the majority of pupils gone, it meant that there were less staring, prying eyes. It also meant that her family would be able to visit without being stared at and fawned over by awe-struck pupils.

They were due to arrive today, probably within a couple of hours, and she hoped that their arrival would provide her something to smile about, although she truly wasn't feeling in the Christmas spirit.

Turning the page of her book awkwardly, with the woolly fingers of her gloves, she sniffed, her nose cold and stinging, her cheeks prickling with the cold. Part of her wanted to cry, but she wouldn't. 

"Willow!" 

Looking up, she found Dawn and her friend, Duncan, hurtling towards her.

"Hey."

"You gotta come with us, Willow!" Dawn panted, clouds of condensation billowing from her lips with every breath. Her eyes were alight and her cheeks flushed with cold and exertion. "We have to show you!"

"Show me what?" Willow asked, reluctantly closing her book. 

"Oh, just come on!" Dawn squealed, grabbing one of her arms. "It's so cool!"

"An', for one, I agree with her," Duncan added, his blue eyes dancing. 

"You-you do?"

"Aye! It's crackin'!"

Reluctantly letting the two teens haul her onto her feet, she sank in the snow up to her ankles and it soaked into her socks, above the edge of her boots. "So," she said, as they lead her down the halls. "What is this cool thing?"

"You gotta see it!" Dawn exclaimed.

She asked the question at least half a dozen times more before they reached their destination and got the same reply from both of them.

They came to a halt in front of a door she didn't recognise. "Go in!" Duncan urged.

"Yeah! You gotta go in on your own!"

Looking from one to the other suspiciously, Willow nodded and pushed the door open. Before she could even see the contents of the room, two pairs of hands gave her a firm push and she all but fell into the room.

"Hey!"

The door crashed shut behind her and she heard the click of a latch being pulled into place. "You can yell if you wanna, but you're staying in there until you figure it out!" Dawn called through the wood.

"Figure what out?" she cried back.

"Willow?"

Okay, that voice wasn't outside.

Turning around, Willow felt her heart jolt at the sight of Hermione, sitting on a desk on the opposite side of the room. "H-Hermione."

The other witch smiled weakly, getting to her feet. "You know, I think there's some kind of conspiracy going on here. Spike tossed me in here and told me to wait...and now, you're here and we're locked in again..."

"Yeah..."

Lowering her head, Willow shuffled her feet. She glanced around the room, which was almost bare but for a few desks piled in one corner. Her eyes paused on a mirror that stood by one wall, its large frame held up on gilded feet.

"Weird..."

"The mirror?"

Nodding, Willow approached it. "Yeah." She stared at it. "It...it looks familiar."

Hermione approached her, standing less than a foot away from the red head, the closest they had been in days. It caused such a sweet pain to be near her that Willow was hard-pressed to stifle a soft moan.

They looked at the mirror, then at the reflection, where their images gazed back out at them.

"We look good together," Hermione murmured. Willow turned to her in surprise, staring at her lover, who slowly drew her eyes away from the mirror. She sounded... sad? "I...I wish that we..."

"You..."

Hermione paused, gazing at her. "Willow..."

Tears burned in Willow's eyes. "Please," she whispered unsteadily. "Don't break up with me, Hermione... I don't want to lose you, but you...I didn't know you would be so upset about everyone knowing about us..."

"B-break up with you?" Hermione gasped. "I-I-I thought you were ashamed of us...I thought you didn't want anyone to know..."

"Ashamed? Of us?"

"You aren't?"

"I thought you were!"

They stared at each other, then Willow released a peal of laughter.

"Omigod! We are so stupid!"

"You don't want to split up?"

Dropping her book to the floor, Willow lifted her hands and cupped Hermione's face. "Does this answer your question?" she asked, as she closed the gap between them, their lips meeting.

Raising her hands to tangle through Willow's fiery hair, Hermione pulled her young lover closer to her, as she deepened the kiss, their tears mingling into it.

"I thought you...oh God, I missed you, Hermione..." Willow clung to her, burying her face in Hermione's neck. Hermione nodded, her own voice to choked to speak, her lips pressed to the top of Willow's head.

It seemed like an eternity before she could speak.

"I love you, Willow."

Green eyes rose as Willow lifted her flushed face. "I love you too, Hermione," she whispered, one hand running lightly down Hermione's equally-flushed cheek, before she claimed another light kiss. 

Wrapping their arms around on another, they shared a tight embrace, unable to voice the intensity of the relief, the love and the...the bliss they were feeling at being together once more.

"Willow..."

"Mmm?"

"The mirror...look at the mirror..."

Shifting slightly in Hermione's arms, Willow looked at it, then noticed something she hadn't seen before: an inscription marked into the elaborate decorative scroll carved along the top of the mirror.

"Omigod...I...I only saw us in it..." Hermione nodded in awed agreement. "Does that mean that we...?"

"We must..." Hermione agreed.

Willow blinked, then turned back to the mirror. "Wow..."

"I-I thought Professor Dumbledore had got rid of it," Hermione whispered.

A third voice spoke from behind them. "I did."

Willow and Hermione both squealed in fright, whipping around to find the Head Master standing a short distance from them, a pleased smile on his face, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement.

"You really like sneakin' up on people, don'tcha?" Willow said, wagging a finger at him, her other arm still looped around Hermione. "I'm gonna get you a bell!"

Professor Dumbledore chuckled. "So you are feeling a little happier, I assume?"

"You...you were part of the set up..."

"Very good, Professor Granger," he said, beaming at them. "Although, I am afraid to admit that the idea was certainly not mine. You have Miss Summers to thank for providing the means of bringing you back together."

"Dawnie?"

Dumbledore nodded. "She really is an exceptionally bright young woman."

"I dunno if we should hug her or hex her," Willow sighed in aggravation. 

Hermione nudged her hip against Willow's. "Well, she did get us back together..."

"Yeah..."

"Professor Dumbledore? Have you seen Willow...?" The door of the classroom opened, a bright slat of sunlight pouring in through the crack. Both witches raised their arms o shield their eyes, as Buffy Summers' head poked in. "Oh! There you are, Wills! I just thought you'd wanna know your family just showed up!"

Hermione released Willow. "Want me to come with you?"

"Always," Willow replied with a smile, grabbing Hermione's hand and running towards the door.

Stepping into the room, Buffy shook her head. "I really don't get those guys," she said to Dumbledore, who chuckled. She looked around the room. "What were they doing in here anyways?"

"We had some matters to discuss and this seemed as suitable a place as any," he replied with a smile, stepping aside the instant that Professor Summers noticed the massive mirror beyond him. 

"Neat mirror," she remarked. "Is it one of those talkie ones?"

"It happens to be one of the only non-talking mirrors in Hogwarts," Dumbledore replied, as she approached it and looked up at the frame.

"What's the weird writing? Latin?"

"I am not sure what you would call it," he replied evasively, the corner of his lips twitching as she looked into the glass, at her reflection. Her eyes screwed up and her expression contorted into one of shock. 

"EW!"

"I beg your pardon?"

Turning away from the mirror, she shuddered. "That's some kind of hall-of-mirrors magic mirror, right?" she said, glancing over her shoulder at it, then shuddering again. "The kind that shows way freaky stuff?"

"I suppose you could say that," Dumbledore was hard-pressed to hide a smile and he innocently inquired, "May I know what you saw?"

Buffy pulled a face as she replied, "You don't wanna know!"

___________________________________________

Whoo! Talk about a cop-out, eh? :D Now, place your bets about what Slaygal saw, if you've realised just what she was looking into :D Oh, come on! how could I resist! I'm a sucker for the HP world and if I can use everything I love about it, I intend to!

Coming Soon in the next chapter of The Eighth Weasley - Christmas comes to Hogwarts with all the madness that usually ensues, Willow and Hermione have news for the Weasleys, Buffy gets an unexpected Christmas gift, Snape hates his life and more!


	45. Under The Influence

The Eighth Weasley 

The Eighth Weasley - Chapter Forty-Five Under The Influence

Notes: This is one of those ideas I had stupidly late at night (when I was meant to be getting up at 7am on a Saturday to do my laundry - I'm a student. I wait til I'm down to my last wearable pieces of clothing, then hope and pray I'll be up in time to get a machine - for those of you who are wondering, I managed (4 loads...my all time record)), so it was a bad time for me to have it, even the suggestion of it taking root a bit too quickly for my tastes.

I'd been working on finishing Potions v. Dada (chapter 31) and I'd just hopped off the computer when the muse hit, hard, fast and mercilessly. What had been a joking idea I had been vaguely considering decided it was coming out to play. My intention of being in bed by 2am was ruined.

Two hours later, I had a whole new twist that wouldn't have happened if this chapter idea hadn't cropped up and now...now, the bloody story is turning out to be one of those epics that looks to be at least 60 chapters. All I can say is thank God that it's always got fairly short chapters, especially compared to my other crossovers (Heir Of Voldemort in particular)

And - yes, this is going to be a ramble - if you've ever had one of those ideas which won't leave you alone until you have it written, you'll know what I'm talking about. I went through this with Heir of Voldemort. I could get nothing done, for sheer force of ideas and now, its happening all over again. I could just cry.

But in a good way, cos hot damn! I love some of the ideas spawned by this!

****

New notes (Jan. 11th) - all right - see me talking a lot of crap above. When I wrote those notes, each chapter of this was still around 9 pages at most. That was when I was still writing the mid-20s (way back in October - thats when I wrote the main bulk of this chapter - egads. I wrote it before I wrote half the 20s!). By 25, every chapter was 10 pages or more and now, on average, they are 15 pages, just like HoV was. So much for actually doing a shorter series. Bugger it. This one is already longer than HoV and it's just over half-finished. So much for having a life. 

The funny thing is, the events of this chapter actually centralised my plotline that had been meandering in no direction, in time for me to go back and change things when I hit ch.20. Now, looking back, I can't even imagine where this would have gone, if I hadn't got this twist (although I do know my pairings would have been very different. Xander and Hermione. Eesh. How things change, eh?)

______________________

"How long are you all gonna stay?"

Molly Weasley was sitting in one of the cosy lounges of Hogwarts with her husband and youngest daughter, who had been filling her in, in detail, about what had been going on at the school since her last letter.

The rest of the Weasley clan was being liberally scattered throughout the school to various rooms, where they would being staying over the Christmas period.

The family had agreed to gather at the school because of Glory's threat and since Willow was known to the Hell Goddess, she didn't want to risk her family by having their location pointed out to the demon.

There was also the additional bonus that Amy would be able to visit, with Percy, and Bill would be able to report in from his end of the communication line about what they knew was happening.

"We'll probably only be here for a day or two, dear," she replied, beaming at willow, who was sitting on the heart rug at her mother's feet, in front of the fire, both of them armed with large mugs of hot chocolate. "We wouldn't want to get in the way."

"Way? In the? Oh no! You won't be in the way!"

"Well, your brothers all have work as well, dear," Molly reminded her daughter. "I know that most of them can't stay very long, although I do think that sweet young friend of yours, Amy, might have persuaded Percy to take a few days off."

Willow choked on her hot chocolate. "Percy? Days off? Have...have pigs started their own transatlantic air haulage company?"

"That's what your brothers said," Molly chuckled. "And yes, she really does seem to be able to wrap him around her little finger." She looked down at her mug. "I wonder if someone might have gone and fallen in love with a little witch..."

Unnoticed by Molly, Willow went a rather fetching shade of red.

"Do...um...do you think we should go down and check on them? I mean not...not everyone has met everyone else and I kinda don't want Fred and George meeting Spike before Professor McGonagall is there."

"Spike is still here?"

Willow nodded, grinning. "Yuh-huh!" she said. "Him and Professor McGonagall are... well, they're kinda like best friends in a way that they pretend that they're not, but everyone who isn't a student knows that they really are."

"So," Molly put her mug down, getting to her feet. "When Percy came home, ranting about how the school has gone downhill with the Deputy Head Mistress allowing vampires to look up her skirts, he wasn't joking, was he?"

"Nope! That would be Spike."

Looping her arm through her daughter's, Molly couldn't help smiling. "I'm looking forward to meeting him now, dear," she admitted. "Especially if he is as good-looking as you mentioned..."

"Mom!"

"What did you expect, dear?" her mother laughed, as they emerged into the hall and headed towards the staircase that lead towards the Great Hall. "I am you mother, after all. Any quirky tastes you have come from me."

"That's not something a lotta people would be proud of, mom," Willow remarked.

"You should know by now, dear, that I'm not like a lot of people."

"I'll say," a male voice cut in and Molly swung around. Charlie ducked under the cuff aimed at his head, grinning broadly at them. "All right, Wills? Sorry I'm late. Got stuck with a hatchling."

"I guess I can forgive you, then," Willow replied, trying to look grumpy and failing miserably. "C'mon! You wanna meet Spike with everyone else? I think McGonagall is keeping him occupied for now."

"Occupied...how?"

Willow snickered. "You don't wanna know."

Charlie went an odd shade of green. "That just gave me the worst possible visual I think I could have had right now."

"Consider yourself lucky, Charlie," Molly advised, as they ascended the staircase to the Great Hall. "From what I heard, last time Percy was here, he caught Professor McGonagall with the vampire's head up her skirt."

"Dear Merlin..." Charlie moaned. "I didn't need to know that."

Willow and Molly just laughed, as they entered the Great Hall, in time to see Spike and Professor McGonagall locked in what looked like mortal combat of the exploding snap variety, the Deputy Head Mistress' hand hovering over the deck of cards.

"You're telling me," Charlie muttered. "That that bloke is a blood-sucking fiend?"

"SNAP!"

The explosion of pack of cards as Spike slapped down his card was deafening, the empty Hall's acoustics reverberating the sound back, as the pair started coughing over the black smoke billowing around them.

Willow beamed at her brother. "Yuh-huh. Wanna be the first one of the family to meet him?" Charlie looked from her to the vampire, a dubious expression on his face, which his sister cheerfully ignored. "Hey! Spike!"

It took several minutes for the vampire and the Professor to emerge from the cloud of smoke, by which time, several more of the Weasley clan had wandered back into the Great Hall.

"Afternoon, Red," Spike coughed out as he clambered over the table, scattering the remnants of the exploding snap pack on the floor. He paused at the sight of seven Weasleys staring at him. "Bloody hell..." he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "Either there's something in those fumes, or you're multiplying..."

McGonagall, after rounding the table, gave him a smug look. "Like rabbits, you might say," she remarked dryly.

"Minnie," the vampire cautioned. "Don't make me want to drain you dry."

The Deputy Head Mistress gave him a thoroughly innocent look. "I have no idea what you're talking about, William," she replied, casually brushing a few flecks of ash off her robes. "You, on the other hand, look like a rabbit in the headlights."

The vampire scowled at her, stomping down from the dais, upon which the High Table stood. "So, Red, this is your family, eh?"

"Yeah," She grinned around at them. "Everyone, this is Spike. Spike, this is my mom," As she identified them, she nodded to them. "Charlie, Bill, Fred, George, my dad and Ron."

"We think Percy might be avoiding you," Fred put in helpfully. 

"So he's scared of me?" Spike perked up a little.

Professor McGonagall rolled her eyes as she came alongside him. "Aye," she said, exaggerating her accent more then she usually did. "Because yer a vicious brute! With big, nasty, pointy teeth!"

"Minnie, I'm warning you!"

Willow, though, had a hand over her mouth and was doubled over, giggling.

"What does a vampire have to do with a demonic rabbit from Monty Python?" Bill asked, warily stepping back when Spike flashed a golden-eyed glare at him. "And pretend I didn't say that."

"Bloody hell!" George gaped, staring at the vampire's face. "That's what it looks like when you...you know...go...well, bitey on people. Does that," He gestured to his own face. "Hurt?"

"This?" Spike said, studying the ginger-haired man. "Nah. It's the teeth in your neck I'd worry about." A dangerous smirk tilted the corner of the vampire's mouth up. "I'd offer to show you, but..."

"But I'd stake your bony ass if you even tried," Willow finished smartly. "I'm not having any of my family eaten on Christmas eve!"

"Not even a nibble, Red?"

"Spike, this is my resolve face," She pointed at herself. "You are not eating any member of my family while they're here."

Heaving the sigh of a wounded victim, the vampire shook his head mournfully. "I'll just have to wait until they leave then, won't I, little Red?" His eyes went to Molly, who immediately matched her daughter's 'resolve face'. "And I'll be leaving your mum well alone, if I want to keep my nads intact."

"Bloody hell..." Charlie muttered. "She hasn't even said anything to him and he can already tell exactly what she's like."

"Charles Weasley," Molly turned to him. "What do you mean by that?"

"What he means, Mrs Weasley," Spike said sincerely, with a dashing bow, which was counteracted by a wicked grin. "Is that you are about to take away his ability to have children."

Charlie immediately did the wisest thing possible and hid behind his big brother.

Spike grinned at Willow. "Y'know, ducks," he remarked with an approving nod. "I think I could get to liking your family."

"Why does that worry me?" the red head countered.

The vampire smirked. "Because you know me?"

"Yeah," Willow agreed reluctantly. "That's exactly the problem." 

***

Brushing her hair, before she lay down for the night, Dawn Summers was humming to a tune that Bob had planted in her head, the mirror in a good mood after receiving a tiara of tinsel in the spirit of the season.

It was late on Christmas Eve and Dumbledore had finally suggested that they should all call it a night after possibly one of the craziest meals Hogwarts had seen in nearly it's full millennium.

Seldom were all the Weasleys able to be in the one place for a meal, let alone all be in on place together, in the presence of the Slayer who Ron fancied the knickers off, the witch Percy would give up work for, the vampire who cheerfully threatened to kill them all and the former school friend of their father, who was as nutty as their old man, once they got talking.

Arthur and Giles had resorted to a manly bout of pinkie wrestling after the evening meal, which had involved several charmed foods that had lead to Dumbledore turning into a cactus, McGonagall transforming into a warthog - which Spike took great pleasure in poking fun at - and most everyone else into something small and furry.

Even Molly hadn't been able to keep her face straight long enough to lecture both her sons and thing only got worse when it came out that Rupert Giles had somehow managed to spike the drinks at the High table with a potion of his own making, which made the drinkers sound like they had been inhaling helium.

Dumbledore had found it hilarious, although his usually uproariously laugh sounded more like it should belong to a hyperactive lemming.

Harry and Bill, two of them men with the deepest voices after Dumbledore, has burst into a Bee Gees song, _Staying Alive_, with their new and not-so-improved squeaky voices, which Spike had interrupted with his own version of the lyrics.

He had promptly been turned into a large, white rabbit by Professor McGonagall.

It went without saying that, in the wake of the meal, very few of the Weasley family were able to take his constant death threats seriously. 

All in all, it had been a fun, yet incredibly surreal meal and Dawn had loved every minute of it.

"Saw you talking to Wills' big brothers," Buffy said, as she pulled her own hair back into a ponytail, moonlight slanting in through a chink in the curtains, a fire roaring warmly in their fireplace, staving off the winter chill.

"Yeah," Dawn acknowledged, tossing her brush to the dressing table and punching the air triumphantly, when it landed on the desktop. "They're so cool!"

"Mmm...and I heard that you were seen talking to Fred and George..."

"Uh..." Dawn's attempt to look innocent only succeeded in making her look even guiltier than before. "Yeah? And?"

"And," Buffy climbed into her own four poster bed. "If I remember right, Fred and George run a joke shop and you and Duncan seem to have been spending a lot of time playing with potions and that trick you played on Spike..."

"Hey! He was going to be mean to Willow and Hermione!"

"And I suppose that makes everything all right?"

Dawn shrugged as she hauled her own blankets over her legs. "Well, yeah..."

"And you're not going to tell me what you were talking to them about?"

"Duh!"

Buffy chuckled, pulling her thick blankets up to her chin, the lights dimming around them. "I'll find out, Dawnie," she warned, yawning widely. "When I do, if you're into something ubercreepy, you're in so much trouble."

The only response she got from her sister was a snore.

Snuggling against her pillow, Buffy smiled drowsily. "Night, Dawnie."

***

Snape hated Christmas.

He always had.

Everything about it.

Merriment, festive cheer, smiling, happy children. 

It all made him nauseous.

However, he had made the foolish promise to Professor Dumbledore that he would attend the Christmas day meals. He didn't have to say anything or do anything, except be in attendance.

If a pupil so much as looked at him, he knew he would probably wring their neck.

Easing out of his bed chamber, he closed the portrait over the doorway and glanced down the hall, wishing - once again - that he could go to his lab and work on some nice, slow-acting poisons, preferably to do away with that annoying little hussy, who was still holding her own as the teacher of Defence Against The Dark Arts.

Heaving a sigh, he made his way down the arch-roofed corridors, to the black stone staircase that led to the ground and upper levels of the school, the air warming as he ascended, the dark and gloom of the dungeons bleeding out into the vivid greens and reds of the Christmas decorations.

Dear Merlin, how he despised Christmas.

He could hear ringing laughter and happy chatter from the Great Hall from several corridors away, lurking in what shadows were left along the stone walls, thanks to the fairies casting light everywhere.

There were only a few people remaining this Christmas, as far as he knew, which was a small blessing.

Unfortunately, among them, he knew there would be Summers, the eighth Weasley and the muggle boy. The vampire, the ex-demon and Summers' sister, much to his surprise, he didn't mind so much.

Perhaps because the vampire reminded him of himself in an unusual way: sarcastic, dry, sinister in his own way.

Emerson.

Well, what wasn't there to like about her? She was a former demon, she had a mind on her that would make the London sewage and waste system look positively sterile and she saw no point in hiding either of those facts.

It proved amusing on many occasions.

And the sister...

Well, she a veritable expert at irritating Professor Summers, making the Slayer lose her cool almost daily, which was always a good thing in Professor Snape's book. On top of that, she had an exceptional gift with potions that he had seldom seen before in anyone at the school, muggle or otherwise. 

She was also sarcastic, quick-tempered, sharp-tongued and cynical, very much like him. Oddly tolerable as well, for a teenager. 

Yes, Dawn Summers was tolerable.

Now, if only her blasted sister would take a few pointers...

"Merry Christmas!" A ghost flitted past, giving him a cheerful wave.

Snape scowled.

Nearly-Headless Nick paused. "Not in the Christmas mood, eh?"

"It so happens that I have managed to acquire a potion that includes an anti-root that can dissolve the anti-matter that ghosts are made of," the Potions Master growled, his expression dark.

Nearly-Headless Nick looked amused, the corners of his lips rising. "That would be a no, then?" He patted Snape on the shoulder and it felt like a rinse of ice-cold water had streamed over the spot. "You better hurry. The feast has already begun." Stalking away, Snape tried to ignore Nick's cheerful call of. "Have fun!"

"Obnoxious undead arse," Snape hissed through his teeth, making his way around the elaborately-dressed Christmas trees that lined both sides of the entrance hall, casting a pleasant glow around the hallway, glittering with icicles and candles.

Ignoring a small choir of singing house elves - which he was sorely tempted to kick, when they started warbling as he passed them - he swept into the Great Hall, where he immediately stopped dead, his hands clenching by his sides, his jaw locking.

It as if his worst nightmare had come true.

Two of the largest long tables had been pushed together to form one table, around which almost thirty people sat. As he had entered the hall, ten red-haired heads turned in his direction.

The Weasleys.

All of them.

Which could only mean that Potter would be with them.

His eyes slowly moved around the square table.

William, his wife - the veela-descendant - Fleur, Percy and his charge, Amy Madison, Peter Pettigrew's niece, Charles, Harris and Emerson occupied one side of the table. 

The next one was filled by Ron who looked rather pale, which was hardly surprising, considering his neighbour was Spike. Next to him, Cameron and Summers Junior sat beside Potter - yes, there he was - and Ginny, along with the laughing Hagrid.

The next table seemed to be the Teacher's table, where he could see Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, Giles and Hermione, who sat on the corner, next to youngest Weasley. 

Alongside the girl, her mother sat, then her father and the twins, as well as the young first year that the youngest Weasley had befriended, Leon Mzimba, who seemed to be in the raptures. 

Snape's stomach twisted painfully and he wondered if it would be so wrong to turn and walk back out of the hall, despite Dumbledore gazing at him, that blasted amused twinkle in his eyes.

And then, of course, things could always get worse.

"Snapey! You came!"

Ah, yes. 

There was the crowning feature of what was already turning out to be an absolutely wonderful day.

Every one of the Weasleys was doubled over, sniggering at the Slayer's words, as just beyond Giles, on the far corner of the table, he saw Summers leap to her feet and wave to him.

As usual, she wasn't wearing standard robes, like almost everyone else at the table. A loose red sweater hung on her, over black trousers, a ridiculous-looking Tiara - no doubt from a cracker - propped jauntily on her curled blonde hair. 

The blue robes, he noticed absently, were not present, which was another small blessing, as she did tend to be rather distracting when she wore them.

The muscles in his cheeks felt like they would shatter when he forced a tight, thin smile in her direction. "Miss Summers." He had given up on telling her not to use the nickname, as it only seemed to make her use it more.

"I saved you a seat," She gave him that annoying, awful, American smile of hers, as he made his feet walk towards the table, shooting a malevolent look at Dumbledore, who raised his eyes to the ceiling in innocence.

"I will only be here temporarily," the Potions master gritted out through clenched teeth, as he forced himself to sit down in the seat next to the Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts, Giles chuckling on his left side. "I have work to..."

"You really are boring, you know," the blonde next to him remarked, giving him a nudge that could have shattered his ribs. His jaw tightened, but he made no sound of pain or otherwise. "It's Christmas Day! Everyone else is having fun, so why not loosen up for once?" Black eyes turned to her, expressionless. "Or not..." She picked up the cracker in front of him. "Can I pull it for you?"

There was a choking sound from further up the table, drawing attention to the youngest Weasley, who seemed to have swallowed something the wrong way and was going a funny shade of purple.

"Willow?"

"Buffy!" She pointed at the Slayer. "Bad words! Naughty images!"

Emerson grinned broadly. "She's right! I'm surprised that I didn't notice it first. Perhaps Willow having regular and very good sex is helping her to see things my way," the ex-demon commented. "Your words could be taken in a sexual way, if you take into account that you could be pulling on..."

"ANYA!"

No one could be sure who it was that voiced the squeal the loudest: Summers or Weasley.

Snape was, however, certain that the Slayer's squeal had perforated his eardrum.

In the middle of the next side of the table, he could see the Slayer's sister giggling behind her hand, the vampire smirking. Harris looked mortified and was staring at his plate, while Dumbledore just chuckled. A couple of the Weasley brothers sniggered initially, until they caught up with what the full sentence had been.

Fortunately, though, the revelation about the youngest Weasley's sex-life was of more concern to her elder brothers and her parents, who were staring at her crimson face, distracting them from the Slayer's accidental innuendo. 

The Potions Master took the chance to shoot a murderous look at the Slayer, while no one would notice. She, however, noticed, and flashed him that annoying American grin of hers again, knowing just how much it irritated him, before turning to the scene playing out in front of them.

"Willow...?" The Weasley mother was staring at her daughter.

"All right," Ronald punched his palm, looking around the table. "Who is he? Who is the git that decided to boff my little sister without marrying her first?"

"RON!" both Granger and the youngest Weasley squeaked.

"But I thought that you and Oz had decided to just be friends..." Mrs Weasley began, then apparently saw the blush flooding the faces of both her daughter and brown-haired witch sitting beside her. "Oh!"

"Oh?" Weasley Senior looked at his wife. "What do you mean, 'Oh'?"

Snape rolled his eyes at the Weasley father. Two young women, sitting practically in each other's laps, who had been whispering to one another since he had entered the hall, and now, were both ruby in colour. What else could she mean 'Oh' about?

Granger and Weasley Junior exchanged glances, then Granger nodded, smiling. Weasley number eight looked around the table at her father and brothers, who all seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Ronald.

"Um...I have something to tell you."

"I'll say! Who is the manky git?" one of the twins demanded, outraged. "You were meant to get a ring on your finger before you did the deed!"

Willow looked indignant. "You didn't mind so much when I was sleeping with a werewolf! You know he wouldn't have eaten you if you had complained to him and none of you did," Percy coughed. "Okay, Percy did, but I can't get married to my new lover, even if I want to."

"Why the Hell not?" William exploded.

"Because," Granger answered, grinning mischievously. "I'm not a man."

Seven Weasley and two Potter jaws hit the table.

Snape suddenly felt very glad that he had forced himself to stay at the dinner. This was certainly a lot more entertaining than he had expected.

"You...you're kidding," the other twin mumbled faintly.

"Nope!"

Ronald raised a hand, pointing at Granger, then at his youngest sister and back again. He looked like he was stunned, horrified and possibly a little ill, his face white as a sheet, his freckles standing out like fluorescent orange spots. "But you...and her..."

"You're both girls..." Percy whimpered, his forehead creased as if he was having trouble adjusting to the concept of his sister get more girl action than he did.

"We had noticed that, Percy," Granger answered. "Although," She looked at the youngest Weasley, with a deep and soulful expression in her brown eyes. Snape was convinced he was about to vomit. "It wasn't that important."

"Ginny..." Potter looked at his wife suddenly, a paranoid look on his face. "You... you're not interested in witches, are you?"

"Harry, don't worry! I'm just her twin. I'm not her," Willow Weasley laughed. "And I'm not totally gay. Nor's Hermione." Again, they exchanged looks and tiny smiles. It was quite honestly the most sickening thing that had ever been seen in Hogwarts. "We both just kinda...liked each other."

"A lot," Emerson put in. "Which is why they started having sex a lot," A thoughtful look crossed the ex-demon's face and she started to ask, "Do you use your wands, since neither of you has a penis...?"

"ANYA!" This time, it was a competition between Granger and Weasley for the loudest squeal of embarrassment.

"I knew there was a reason that I liked having her around," the vampire chuckled from the far end of the table, raising a glass of dark red wine - or perhaps it was blood. Snape didn't want to ask - to Anya. "Demon-girl, you make every meal a cabaret."

Emerson grinned at the commendation. "See, Xander!" she exclaimed. "Someone appreciates me when I speak. Stop mumbling at me to shut up! You aren't my boyfriend anymore, so you can't tell me what to do!"

"Miss Emerson," Dumbledore spoke, looking straight across the table at the girl. "I would be most displeased if you did, in fact, stop talking. It would make conversation frightfully dull." 

Snape gaped at the Head Master. Dumbledore didn't even notice he was being observed, which was definitely a first. What the hell was going on around here? 

Much to his increasing astonishment, the former demon flushed and shyly ducked her head, flashing a coy smile across at Dumbledore, who also went a bright shade of pink, his eyes going down to his plate.

Dear Merlin...

Dumbledore wasn't just interested in Emerson for her amusing conversation skills, her bluntness and forthright manner. The Head Master had a crush, yes, a teenage-style-head-over-heels crush, on the former Vengeance demon.

And what made it worse was that Emerson apparently wasn't at all shocked by the behaviour of the old wizard...or would he be young wizard to her?

Snape glanced at her former boyfriend, who was staring at his plate, blushing furiously and pointedly ignoring her. Well, having someone who wasn't embarrassed by her...outbursts, it was hardly surprising that she found Dumbledore's polite advances acceptable. 

Shaking his head, Snape chuckled as he returned his attention to his plate, which had filled with a full pile of Turkey breast and trimmings, boiled and roast potatoes that were liberally steeped in thick, luscious gravy and vegetables of all varieties.

"What are you laughing about?" he heard a voice mutter in his ear, which reminded him sharply that he wasn't meant to be enjoying himself. 

He was sitting with a group of the people that he despised most, during a festival he deplored and he was definitely not going to let any of it enjoyable for him in any way, shape or form. 

"Nothing, Summers," he growled, stabbing a Brussels sprout with his fork.

He felt her eyes resting on him for a moment longer, then heard her laugh quietly, and turn to ask her sister what she thought she was doing, drinking out of Potter's wine glass.

***

"Well, that went better than I expected."

Hermione, folding the sheets down on the bed, looked up as Willow re-entered their bedroom from the small bathroom. "How did you expect it to go?" she asked, fluffing the pillows.

Pausing in a patch of moonlight on the floor, Willow shrugged. "We weren't hexed or exiled from the family," she replied, approaching the bed and sitting down on the edge, brushing her hair. "That's always a big plus."

"I suppose so," Hermione smiled. "And did you see the look on Ron's face?"

Grinning weakly, Willow nodded. "Poor Ron. I've never seen him go that shade of green before."

"Think they'll get used to it?"

Dropping her brush on the bed beside her, Willow caught her lover's hand and drew Hermione along the bed to her. "They'll just have to," she replied, lifting the other witch's hand to her lips and kissing her knuckles. "I'm not about to let you go."

Kneeling down between Willow's feet, her hands resting lightly on the red head's knees, Hermione raised her hand to cup Willow's face. "After what we went through last week, I don't think I'd be able to cope without you."

"I love you."

"I love you," Hermione answered in a whisper, rising up until she was face to face with her lover. Both her hands framed Willow's face and she smiled. "Now, I have to give you your Christmas present."

"Another one?"

"Mmm," Hermione acknowledged into the kiss, one hand sliding around to cradle Willow's head, silky red hair trickling between her fingers in soft, loose strands. 

Willow's hands rose to pull Hermione closer to her, sliding up her lover's back, as the kiss increased in ardour. With both of them wearing snug, winter pyjamas, Willow moan of frustration as she encountered a row of buttons was matched by Hermione's.

"Clothes," she panted, fumbling with the buttons. "Off. Now."

Reaching for her wand, Hermione gave Willow a sensual grin. "You know, this is a short cut, don't you?" 

"Duh! The sooner clothes are off, the sooner better smoochies will happen!"

Within seconds, all pyjamas were dispatched and Willow scooted under the sheets of the bed, squealing as the cold material came in contact with her bare skin. "You could have put a warming charm on!"

Discarding her wand, Hermione slid in beside her lover, one arm drawing Willow closer. "And what," she asked huskily, as she brushed Willow's hair back from her cheeks. "Would be the fun of that? After all," One hand moved down the red head's side. "There are plenty of ways to get warmed up."

"You gonna help me?" Willow asked with a playful pout.

The pout was caught in a fierce kiss, which more than answered the question.

***

The dark hall was quiet as Snape, wand illuminated and raised, reached the portrait of a solitary hooded figure standing on a wind-whipped, night-shadowed moor, that opened into his small sanctuary. 

However, he couldn't get away from the feeling he was being watched.

"Come out, Summers," he sighed.

"Good guess, Snapey," The blonde woman emerged from behind one of the cylindrical black columns that lined the hall, leaning against it with her grin firmly in place. "How'd'you know it was me?"

She was still wearing the red and black ensemble she had been wearing at the dinner earlier in the evening and apparently hadn't noticed the rash of goosebumps on her skin, which were apparently trying to remind her that she was cold.

"I can't think of anyone else quite as irritating who would waste valuable time to lurk outside my private quarters in the dark," he answered coldly. "And you carry the most infuriating scent with you."

"Scent, huh? What are you? A dog?" His eyes flashed angrily. "Easy, Snapey! I was joking," she laughed, clearly more amused than afraid of his anger. "So...what do I smell like?"

"Will you leave me alone if I tell you?"

"Tonight, maybe. On a permanent basis...not likely."

"Miss Summers, you are the most infuriating individual I have had the misfortune of encountering," She smirked, arms crossed over her chest. "Very well, if it will make you leave now, you smell of white musk and vanilla. Both of them sweet fragrances, so very unlike you."

She laughed, softly. "My my, aren't we bad-moody tonight."

"You said you would depart." 

"Not right away, I didn't." She gave him that wicked look that suggested she was up to something. "You really don't like having me around, do you?"

He scowled down at her. "Miss Summers, I would rather be poked in the eye with a sharp stick, repeatedly, than spend time with you of my own free will," Her eyes gleamed wickedly and he wondered what the little hussy was plotting.

"So you wouldn't dream of abusing the legend of this, then?" He glanced down at her hand and mentally groaned at the sight of the sprig of mistletoe, which she was rolling between her forefinger and thumb. 

"You are aware that it is deadly, are you not?"

She shrugged. "What isn't?" she grinned, hazel eyes glittering oddly by the light of his wand. "So, Snapey, are you going to take advantage of me handing myself to you on a plate, or are you gonna do the crank-meister thing and glare at me?"

The Potions Master was bewildered for a moment, then his lips tightened.

Another of her little tests, was it? 

She wanted to see how far she could push him, what pressed his buttons, what he would and wouldn't do in reaction to her smart-arse tricks. Admittedly, she was ahead of anyone who had tried the same thing before.

Many people had tried to understand his inner-workings, but he wasn't about to let a little hussy with the strength of a titan get the better of him.

Grabbing her arms in a bruising grip, her jerked her towards him. "Don't annoy me, little girl," he snarled, before crushing his mouth down on hers.

Buffy managed to get out a squeak of surprise a second before Snape's lips met hers, her hazel eyes widening in shock. She hadn't expected him to do anything, except maybe glare at her for a little longer or make a wise-ass comment.

One of his hands slid from her arm, gripping her around the waist and she groped out for something to hold on to that wasn't somehow attached to Snape, but there was nothing there. 

Somehow, he had gotten her away from the solid wall she had been leaning against and now, she only had him. She whimpered as she realised she was totally reliant on the dark man above her to keep her upright and she knew he knew it to.

A muffled gasp escaped her as his tongue brushed silkily along her lower lip and he took advantage of the brief parting of her lips to invade her mouth, his hand sliding over her hip to push against her tailbone, holding her hard against him.

The touch of his hand on the base of her back made her tremble, her eyes closing as he let his other hand rise to twist into her hair.

It was wrong. 

It had to be wrong. 

He was Snapey! Gross, bad hair, icky teeth, big nose, glowery, looming, bug-the-crap-out-of man-in-black Snapey! 

But, oh God! He knew what he was doing. His tongue flicked sensually against the tip of hers, and it felt like an electric charge had just shot down her spine, making her shiver against him.

Grasping at his upper arms for some kind of stability, the robes coarse against her fingers, her legs shook beneath her, as she tried to work out just what the hell was going on, but all thoughts were blending together in a whirl of colour. 

Her hands seemed to have taken a mind of their own and slid up to his shoulders, crushing him against her.

Thrusting a hand into his hair, which was a lot softer than it looked, she jerked his head back from hers, panting. Her lips felt swollen and she could barely breathe. It felt like the whole hall had suddenly got a lot warmer.

Snape was staring down at her, a wrinkle in his brow suggesting that he was feeling as confused as she was, his breath as raw as hers through his parted lips, his cheeks spotted with faint patches of pink.

"Just so you know," she panted, still holding onto him, knowing that - if she let go - she would slither to the floor in a heap. "I don't like you."

Drawing a long breath, he curled his upper lip. "I can assure you that the feeling is entirely mutual," he growled, before jerking her forcefully back into his arms and kissing her again.

This time, the Slayer didn't let him take the lead, forcing him back up against the portrait that covered his door, her mouth ravaging his, her hands wound through his hair, as they battled for dominance.

Neither of them even noticed the wand slipping from his grip and clattering to the floor, flickering out where it fell. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN: All right, all right, all you mad people who have been asking if Snape & Buffy will get it on. No. Obviously, they never will. Considering how long I've been holding off with this, I'll be genuinely amazed if I have any readers left by the time I post, considering the size of this thing. 

And still - 30 chapters to go. 

Bloody hell...75 frigging chapters, most of which have soared over the 10 page mark... that outdoes JKR in length by a long shot and this has almost all been written in less than 6 months (along with my 340 page series Heir of Voldemort (80% of which was written in Oct/Nov along with a 1/3 of this story (Egads - ever get the feeling I can write a lot)) and numerous other smaller fics since I started writing HP fic in earnest - how I wish I had never stumbled onto fictionalley. HP fans = absolutely spiffing readers, hence I have to post a LOT cos they are all so nice! I'm assuming being 'prolific' is a good thing as well... *waves to all* Hope you like the fic, btw! I'm amazed you're still reading! Bloody big old thing, isn't it?).

But anyway, babble-fest over, I still have to send dubious thanks to the YGTS? gang for getting me started on HP. This was my first ever attempt at HP fic. I showed them the first chapter and they all went squealy on me and told me to write more and now...egads! 75 chapters! (I might have mentioned that before - heaven help anyone who decides to read this from start to finish in one go!)

Ack! Babbling again! Will stop now - Coming soon, in the next chapter of The Eighth Weasley - Buffy and Snape have to deal with what happened. Dumbledore provides sage words of wisdom (look out for his couch! I want it!).


	46. Resolution

The Eighth Weasley - Chapter Forty-Six Resolution 

Notes: I'm sorry, but I really am highly-amused by the Snape/Buffy happenings of the previous chapter! I keep giggling over it and seriously - me giggling = scary thing. As for this chapter - its the aftershock. Poor Snapey...

Also, Giles is given something to motivate him to be his bad-ass self and... well, it's safe to say that when our favourite watcher cares about someone, he really, truly cares about them. And when they get hurt...look out world.

_______________________

"Aggravating, frustrating, agitating, pernicious little trollop." Punching his pillow, Snape turned onto his belly and pushed his face into the deep green fabric, wondering if he would actually succeed in suffocating himself if he tried.

It had just past New Year and he had not left his room since the fateful Christmas evening that had concluded with him and Professor Summers making out in the Hall like two blushing teenagers.

For that very reason too.

They had only separated that night, when Summers had heard her sister calling. 

Without so much as a word, she had vanished.

Groaning, he flopped onto his back, his sheets tangled around his limbs, wishing with all his might that he could get his mind off the infuriating little madam who had the nerve to accost and challenge him in such a way, right outside his own quarters.

It wasn't that he had minded shocking her like that, knowing that she had never expected to receive a kiss, much less a very savage case of necking and groping in the dark of the halls.

It was the fact that he had enjoyed it that was irritating him.

Obviously, he mused, his arms framing his head, his hands tucked under the pillow behind his head, he needed shag on a more regular basis so that sticking his tongue down the throat of the woman who irritated him more than anyone he had ever met - bar Potter and Black - didn't feel so bloody good.

Tossing the tangled black blankets off his body, he swung out of the bed, the stone floor cold against his feet, but he didn't care, reaching for his wand and illuminating the lamps with a gesture.

Pushing himself to his feet, he glanced towards his bookshelf that stood to his right, wondering if there was anything he could brew in those books that would make him forget the taste of the girl: spicy and hot, like cinnamon.

Not likely.

Raising a hand, he wearily ran it through his hair, more than aware that he seriously needed to get some sleep before term started in two days, or else, he knew, he was liable to poison a first year and 'accidentally' forget what the antidote was.

Going to the wall opposite the desk and bookshelves, he squatted down in front of the fireplace and blasted a ball of flame into the darkened hearth for the first time in weeks. Normally, he preferred the cold, but tonight...

No.

Crossing the room, he physically pulled his large, black, leather chair from the desk, settling it in front of the fire, which cast a warming glow up the dark walls.

His room was one of the few staff ones with no windows or direct way to look on the outside world, enclosed deep in the belly of the school, and it suited him perfectly. 

A perfect square, one of the jet black walls was occupied by the grim-looking, black fireplace, one by the bed which currently lay in a state of tangled disarray, and one by the desk and bookshelves. The fourth simply served to hold the door.

There were no decorations in the room but for the gargoyles carved into the mantle, which he found oddly amusing. He hadn't even bothered to bring pictures to brighten up the room, which made Dumbledore shake his head and tut-tut whenever he visited the Potions Master in his room.

A single lamp stood on the desk, another on the small, grubby chest that served as a bedside table beside the bed, and one hung from the ceiling, none of them nearly strong enough to illuminate the whole room with more than a dull light.

Which also suited him fine.

Sinking down into the chair, the fabric of his dark pyjamas sliding against the seat, he rested his cheek on his right hand, his right elbow propped on the arm of the chair, as the warmth ebbed over him.

He couldn't say how long he sat there, but somehow, he managed to empty his mind briefly as he studied the flames dancing before him.

The fire crackled and snapped and he watched the deep blue heart of the flames, wondering what he was meant to do with the thoughts that were making it impossible for him to get some sleep.

His eyes felt heavy, but he kept thinking back to the days before...

It was driving him mad.

Every time he closed his eyes, he was seeing her face and he felt his fingers twitch at the thought of fastening around that pretty little neck of hers, even though he knew his arms would probably be broken before he got that close. 

And, by Merlin! She was younger than some of the pupils that he had taught! She was more than half his age! It was ridiculous to even contemplate becoming involved with her.

NO!

He wasn't even going to follow that train of thought.

No involvement of any kind was going to come to pass between him and _her_.

Sighing again, he knew it was time to resort to desperate measures.

Raising his wand, he summoned a bottle of dark blue, thick liquid.

"The Draught of Living Death." He murmured, uncorking the small bottle, his nose wrinkling as the bitter scent reached his nostrils. "A sign of true desperation."

His fingertip covering the lip of the bottle, he tipped a single drop of the potion onto his skin, then recorked the bottle, standing to put it on the mantle. Returning to his bed, he lay down and closed his eyes as he smeared the potion on his tongue.

As expected, sleep came before he even had time to flick the lamps out.

They gradually faded into darkness and the Potions Master slept, but it wasn't a peaceful sleep by any means, as he tossed and turned in his dreams, haunted by the kiss of the most annoying little tramp on the planet.

***

"What is wrong with you?" Buffy muttered to herself.

Since Christmas night, she had avoided the Great Hall and places like that, in case she happened to run into the man she had ended up slamming against a painting and sharing smoochies with.

No, she didn't like him. Yes, he was depressingly dark and glowery and evil-looking with the cloak and the robes and everything. And big NO, she really didn't want to go anywhere near that road again. Hello pain and bad break-up. 

NO!

She wasn't going to think about him in the sense of breaking-up-ness because that would mean there had been some kind of being-together-ness prior to breakage and that just wasn't what she wanted or needed, especially with Snapey, of all people.

But oh God...

The kisses...

They were like nothing she had ever had before.

Angel had always been so gentle and tender as if afraid that he would break her with a touch, then there was Parker who - looking back at it without the urge to hunt him down and rip his balls off - was exaggerating his nervousness, followed by Riley who was...Riley.

She didn't like to think it about him, seeing as he was a TA and a commander of a soldier-squad-thing, but he still was a farmer at heart and, apart from the one night when they were possessed, they would have a brief kiss and that was it.

She had often found herself wondering if he was thinking about potatoes when he was kissing her.

He was more about the sex, though, and even then, it was usually a one-time, quick hump in the blankets and then he would roll over and fall straight to sleep, leaving her bored and frustrated with him.

Snape, on the other hand, was savage. 

Even Angel - a vampire, for God's sake! - couldn't compare to the ferocity of Snape.

Under the icy calm and quiet rage that always seemed to be simmering around him in her presence, he reacted in a way she had never imagined he could or would. He had been merciless, fierce, but oddly sensual and, she blinked at the thought, she had loved every minute of it.

Ick.

His tongue...her mouth.

Just ick.

Also, his mouth, her neck.

Ick.

She had managed to hide the vivid hickey that appeared on the right side of her throat, opposite the scars from the bite of Angel, with high-necked sweaters.

Seriously ick.

But that still didn't answer why she wanted to go and find him and do it all over again: the kissage, the gropage, everything.

Gyah!

"Buffy," she told herself. "You need to get laid, bad!"

Sitting upright in the massive bed, in the large room she shared with her sister, she crawled over to the nearest side, groping out blindly for the thick, dark drapes and almost plunging off the edge of the bed, when she reached them without realising.

Opening the drapes up a little, she glanced around the room, moonlight slanting onto the dark blue carpet on the floor through the lattice-worked windows. It sounded like Dawn was asleep at least...

Grabbing her dressing gown, she hauled it on around her, tying the cord at her waist, while her feet fumbled under the edge of the bed for her slippers, her toes hit by the chill of the air outside her snug, enclosed bed.

Standing up, she stretched and walked over towards the window, kneeling in the one window-seat they had, looking down at the grounds, which were sparkling as if they were sprinkled with diamonds, instead of frost. 

Glancing up towards the night sky, she could see the gleaming crescent moon like a Cheshire Cat's grin, a small flurry of cloud skittering across the deep blue, stars spotted here and there.

Knowing that she wouldn't be able to sleep, she wandered across to her sister's bed, to check that Dawn was where she was meant to be, instead of sneaking off to meet up with Duncan, to get in even more trouble than they usually managed together.

Opening the deep blue and gold drapes, allowing a slit of moonlight to wash over her sister's face, Buffy smiled tiredly. Dawn was there and she was fast asleep, her dark hair spilling across the fluffy white pillows.

With a sigh, she made her way across to the portrait hole on the far wall, pushing the painting open and ducking through the low arch to step into the Hall, where she was unsurprised to find Dumbledore standing, two cups of hot chocolate in his hands.

"Good evening, Professor Summers," He held out the blue mug to her, which she accepted gratefully, then nodded to a couch that was standing just behind him, near one of the wide windows that looked out onto the hall. "Care to join me?"

Buffy stared at the couch. It was bouncing on it's feet...?

The stumpy wooden legs finished in little brass feet, upon which the brown, leather sofa was bouncing.

"Uh, Professor?"

"Ah, yes, this is one of my little...experiments. It follows me everywhere, when I let it out of my office, in case I ever have the urge to sit down," He smiled as the couch ran in an excited circle, the two Professors approaching it. "Sit!" he ordered.

Both Buffy and the piece of furniture obeyed. 

"Now," Sitting down beside her, the moonlight pouring in through the tall, wide windows over them, he smiled. "Perhaps you would like to tell me why you had the urge to wander out of your room at four o'clock in the morning."

Buffy could feel the heat rising in her face. "Um...no reason...just couldn't sleep..."

"If you like," Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled. "I could have Professor Snape brew a sleeping potion for you." Buffy's mouth opened and she went scarlet. The Head Master chuckled. "I would take that as a no."

The Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts pulled a face at him. "So you know what happened..."

"Know?" He shook his head. "Not in it's entirety, but considering that we have seen neither you nor Severus since Christmas night, it suggested that something might have happened to make you wish to avoid each other more than usual."

Taking a mouthful of the sweet, thick hot chocolate, Buffy pulled her feet up underneath her on the couch. Pondering for a moment, she looked at Dumbledore and asked, "Is he always such a jerk?"

"In what sense?"

Buffy shrugged. "The lurking, the black capey-things, the glowering, the sneering, the bad-moodiness, the eyes...does he do that all the time, or am I just lucky?"

"Only if you are special," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled a little more vehemently.

"Special...?"

The Head master's amusement was palpable. "I have never seen Severus so innately frustrated by a single person as he is by you," he explained. "I have seen him when he despises people, such as Sirius Black and Harry Potter, but you...you bamboozle him because you are...different."

"Different in a good way?"

Professor Dumbledore considered it, sipping his hot chocolate. "Perhaps I should tell you a little about Severus," he said. "He is a solitary creature, a creature familiar with darkness, which he can not get passed. It still torments him, which is why he is fixated on taking your position." Stroking his fingers through his beard, Dumbledore sighed. "The people he despises the most are the ones who have been touched by the darkness and succeeded in drawing back, where he failed."

"But why does he hate me, then?" Buffy was genuinely puzzled. "I haven't touched the darkness...at least not that I know of."

"Firstly, Miss Summers, Severus does not hate you. He never hated you. There is a world of difference between dislike and hate," The Slayer nodded. "But, in a way, you have touched the Darkness, in a way he cannot. You have fought it, hand-to-hand and defeated it. He has never been able to. He wishes to make amends for errors he made in his youth, but he..." Dumbledore sighed again. "He seems to have a mental block and cannot see that he as more than recompensed for his offences."

"And me being able to fight annoys him?"

"Well, partially the ability to fight, but also because you are you."

"Huh?" 

"You are as much a puzzle to him as he is to you, Miss Summers," Dumbledore explained. "You are both created by oppositions within your own natures. You are small, fragile in appearance, yet powerful and stronger that you look. Severus has similar oppositions." 

"So under all those 'I'm-a-bad-ass' robes, he's wearing lace panties?"

Professor Dumbledore chuckled at the dry tone in the Slayer's voice. "Of that I am not sure, Miss Summers, but it may be possible." Buffy went pink again. "However, his greatest irritation with you is that you took the position he desired," The Slayer felt heat in her cheeks at the thought of positions Snape might want. "That is the one he will maintain, no matter how well you perform."

"Um..."

"And yes, you look delightfully pink at the moment, Miss Summers," Patting her on the knee, Dumbledore gave her a twinkle-eyed look. "But, to be serious for a moment, Severus' dislike of you emerged from you acquiring his desired post. It was nothing to do with you as an individual. Now, he had seen a little of what you are like in both nature and character."

"Like it would make a big difference," Buffy muttered.

Blue eyes gazed at her passively over half-moon glasses. "It has, Miss Summers," he said quietly. "When you arrived, in his eyes, you were simply an apparently naive, helpless and strange girl. Now, he has seen what you have lived through to reach this place and understands why I believe you have the abilities to teach here."

"Ah...my not-so-happy-and-sunshine-filled life."

Dumbledore nodded. "It is a life he can understand in moderation," he continued, never taking his eyes off hers. "His life has been less than easy and to find someone like you, who has suffered as much as he, in such a short life time and yet, can remain entirely you...if I know Severus, I believe he will try and understand you."

Buffy pulled a face. "Like I'd want him to do that."

"Wouldn't you?"

She blinked at the Head Master, about to answer in the negative, but fell silent. If Snapey tried to understand her and work her out, would that mean he would be less of a cranky jerk around her?

That might not be a bad thing.

"You might," Dumbledore added. "Attempt the same thing."

"Me?"

"Of course. I believe it might be beneficial for both of you." The Head Master gave her a knowing look. "And I should warn you that if you keep hiding away, I may have to intervene."

"Intervene how?" Suspiciously eyeing the wizard, she had the oddest feeling he was about to giggle.

"By locking you and he in a room until you either kill one another or...find a way to overcome your difference."

"At this point, I wanna say that killing - definitely more likely than getting on with Mr. Cranky," Dumbledore smiled serenely and got to his feet, bending to take the mug from her hand. "Um...Professor, why do you have lipstick on your collar?"

Much to the Slayer's astonishment, Dumbledore's face flushed behind his beard. "I-I was...um..." Shuffling uncomfortably on his feet, he cleared his throat. "I believe that someone must have borrowed these robes..."

Oh-ho!

He was sneaking around to see someone.

"What were you doing up at this time of night?" she inquired, grinning as he shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, just like she used to when her mother quizzed her about her love-life.

"I...I had an appointment."

"Mmm-hmm...where?"

Blue eyes looked at her over half-moon glasses. "The astronomy tower," he replied, his voice quiet. 

Oh, so he had been at the star gazing-class thing up on the tallest tower of the castle. She knew there was...something about the Astronomy tower that she should really know. Something she couldn't remember.

"Oh well," Getting to her feet, Buffy reached up and pecked him on the cheek. "I think I can get some sleep now, Professor." She glanced at the lipstick again. It was a shade of pink she only saw one person wearing, but that would be impossible...

"Good night, Miss Summers," he said, as she opened the portrait of an angel that covered her door. He tried to make it inconspicuous, but she saw one of his hands rise and rub at the lipstick stain.

"Good night, Professor." 

***

Sitting in the small office, at the far end of the Defence Against the Dark Arts class, a solitary candle burning on the desk in front of him, Rupert Giles was engrossed in the photographs that filled the book he was studying.

He had been sorting through the coursework that would begin as soon as the pupils got back, his organisational skills a little better than Buffy's, although she always did the majority of the work for the classes, based on his timetables.

However, as evening had descended, his thoughts had drifted from work and back to the book he was now looking at.

It had been many years since he had seen half the pictures in it, the album a surprise Christmas gift from Arthur and Molly. 

It brought back so many memories.

Every page was jam-packed with both wizard and muggle pictures of them, of their small group of friends at various stages during their time at Hogwarts, so many long years before. Had they really looked so young and carefree?

Tracing the features of one of the girls in one of the pictures, he felt a sad smile lift his lips as she swatted at his finger, trying to push it away, while her two companions in the picture pointed, laughing.

Ginger.

The tall, beautiful blonde Scottish girl, Virginia McKinnon - Ginger to her friends - looked like the odd one out in their group of madcap nut-cases.

She and the veritable midget, Cathlee, had been Molly's best friends when they had all arrived at Hogwarts, in the same year. That was when Molly had still been known by her full name and when all of them had still been alive.

And had still been friends.

Yes, he, Arthur and Ethan had been...rather notorious, but that was only when they had tried to be.

Any other time, they were known for being a close-knit group of four Gryffindors - him, Ethan, Arthur and Molly - a Ravenclaw in the form of Ginger and a Hufflepuff in Cathlee's tiny figure. 

Now...

How they had splintered.

Taking his glasses off, Giles wearily rubbed his eyes, trying to stem the grief that still rose, just as it had when he had first heard the news about Ginger, through the few wizard connections he had maintained after leaving the school.

One of the McKinnons, her family had been wiped out by Voldemort during his first reign. Her death had been the worst and Rupert was sure that he knew why she had been chosen.

For so many years, the only ones left had been Arthur, Molly and Cathlee, Rupert's own world so distanced from theirs, his guilt at his past compounded by grief at what had happened.

From what he had heard, Cathlee had acted in a way very similar to him, when she had heard of Ginger's death. 

Instead of mentally shattering and going down the dark path, as he had at the age of twenty-one, she had bypassed the dark age, moving straight into the duties of 'hunter', a type of Auror with the authority to do whatever was necessary to bring down the Death Eaters.

So small and fragile in appearance, she had caught many Death Eaters off-guard with her section of the squad, who - for the most part - deceptively harmless. And yet, they had taken down many Death Eaters, due to being underestimated.

Nonetheless, Cathlee had never managed to capture the one Death Eater that she had longed to find. Even though evidence had been stacked against him, he had managed to slip the noose.

He had evaded their clutches, never to come to justice.

Replacing his spectacles, Giles drew a breath between his teeth.

The last he had heard about Cathlee was that she had suffered for the cause. 

During her time as an Auror, she had lost the use of her left arm, had been blinded in one eye and was so badly-scarred by battles that even her best friends would never have recognised her.

If she had stayed in contact, that was.

However, her desire for vengeance still burned strong nearly three decades on and she had continued to fight until the bitter end.

In the final days of Voldemort's second reign, she had been killed in battle, leaving nothing but the travel-aged clothes she wore and the room she sometimes inhabited in the Leaky Cauldron.

Her life, he knew, had been almost as empty as his had for so many years.

So intent on her cause, she had ignored all chances to love, to live. 

All because of one of them dying, so soon after they had parted ways.

Part of Giles was convinced that was the final straw for Ethan, when he had heard about their friend. Yes, he was a trouble-maker and a rebel to the extreme, but after Ginger had died, he didn't seem to give a damn anymore.

Before, he had always known when to pull back, but then...

The smartest and most sensible of their group had gone. The one who always told them that they were being idiots. The one who always made sure that their pranks were foolproof. The one who had been like a sister to all of them.

Shaking his head, Giles slowly turned the page over, forcing down the pain of the memories, a weary half-smile coming to his lips at the next picture. He could clearly remember the struggle to get it.

Severus had been a damnable little brat when he had arrived at the school and the picture was as good a piece of evidence for it as any.

In fact, it was the only photograph they had of him, partially because he had been considered Rupert's 'pet project' and mainly because he usually avoided the camera at all costs.

It was only because of rumours that Severus was a teenage vampire that Ethan had agreed to try and catch him in a photograph, to prove that he did show up on film and was, therefore human.

Although, both Arthur and Rupert had agreed that Ethan actually wanted to prove that the dark boy was _not_ human.

Grappled by Rupert and Ethan, Arthur behind the camera, the scrawny, grim-looking first year in the photograph looked like he had been fighting to escape for some time, glowering up at the laughing Giles, who had him in a headlock.

"I pity you, Sev," he murmured, chuckling as the younger Severus bit his younger self on the arm, kicked Ethan in the crotch and made a break for freedom out of the frame of the picture. "We were awful to you..."

Another prickle of guilt struck the former-Watcher, recalling what had become of the boy he had taken under his wing and protected for two years, the boy who had lost his childhood, any innocence he had, thanks to...

Clenching his teeth together, Giles closed the book over with a thump. 

Getting angry with the man who was to blame for everything that had gone wrong in their close group would not change things, not now, no matter how hot his hatred for that son of a bitch burned.

Soon, he would have the chance that Cathlee had longed for, that he had longed for, for so many years, and he would strike the blow with both Cathlee and Ginger close in his thoughts, but not now.

Now, he had more important things to consider.

One of them being the formerly tall and scrawny dark boy, his first charge, now an equally tall and almost as scrawny dark man and the other being his small, blonde and super-powerful blonde charge.

Severus, he knew, had shut himself off from emotion for so long already: People he had considered friends had left him to his dark ends. The new friends he had found had betrayed him as they lead him into darkness. It was little wonder that only now, with the peace following the storm, he was finally learning to be alive.

Or, at least, Giles hoped so.

Perhaps, Buffy could be the one person to break down the dam, which was holding back all the emotion.

It would take time, knowing Severus' instinct to fight against anyone who tried to get close, but - one brick at a time - Giles knew that his younger charge had the ability to remove that defensive wall.

She was the only person who would be fearless enough to risk the terrifying ire of the Potions Professor and was the only person who had seen things that were as bad as anything that Severus had seen.

That was, he told himself as he stood up, if they didn't kill each other first.

***

"Go away."

"Well now," Dumbledore chastised amiably, stepping across the threshold, into the gloomy little room, his robes rustling on the stone floor. "I would hardly say that is a warm welcome, Severus."

Black eyes rose balefully from the book that Severus Snape was reading. "You were expecting a welcome?"

Dumbledore beamed at him. "So you are quite well, then," he said cheerfully. "We were rather worried that something might have happened to you to prevent you from attending meals in the Great Hall. It is reassuring to see you are your normal, cheerful self, dear fellow."

Severus glowered down at the book he was reading. He was seated in the large chair in front of the fireplace, a dull flame flickering around a thick, solitary black log in the centre of the grate.

There was a moment of silence as the Head Master wandered around the room, as he seemed to amuse himself doing, every time he paid Severus a visit.

"Is there any reason that you have been evading the Great Hall, Severus?"

The hefty book was slammed closed and Snape rose to his feet, turning to glare at the old wizard, who smiled guilelessly back at him, as if he didn't have a clue what he had said wrong.

"I would rather have some privacy," Severus said, his voice cool.

Blue eyes blinked at him. "Is that so?" Dumbledore, inquired. "Because, you ought to know that it appears that you and Professor Summers have both found something that causes you to require more privacy than usual."

Severus' eyes narrowed slightly, like a man sensing a trap.

If he asked, he would place his head in the noose, but if he said nothing, his silence would be equally damning.

"You see," Dumbledore rounded the vacant chair, sitting down in it with a groan of relief. "Professor Summers has taken to eating in her room, avoiding all the busiest areas of the school. Perhaps," he added, that damned wicked twinkle in his blue eyes making Snape want to throw his book at the Head Master's head. "You have been... rubbing off on her."

A hoarse choking sound caught in Snape's throat.

"What was that, Severus?" Dumbledore inquired, beaming even more brightly.

"So you know..."

"Know what, dear fellow?"

Severus scowled at him. "I knew that there was a good reason that Lord Voldemort wanted you dead, Head Master," he muttered darkly. "Your cryptic routine is enough to drive the most patient man to kill."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, smiling. "So, do you intend to do anything?"

"About what? Killing you or otherwise?"

"And you claim that I am cryptic...dear, dear, Severus..."

Placing his book on the mantle, Severus folded his arms over his chest, pressing his lips together in a thin line. His eyes narrowed slightly in a way that would have most mere mortals cowering.

However, Dumbledore was no mere mortal.

He smiled. 

"I trust you are, at least, a little more tolerant of Miss Summers."

Severus made a noncommittal sound.

"She really is quite the fascinating young lady, isn't she?" Dumbledore continued to talk regardless. "It's really rather rare to find such spirit, strength and power in one so young. And such wisdom. Very rare."

"Wisdom?" Snape echoed disbelievingly.

"Mmm," Dumbledore acknowledged, his eyes rising suddenly and locking with Severus. "You really ought to talk to her, if you do not believe me, Severus. She has a truly unique perception of the world. Anyone else in her position might have become disillusioned with the task that will be hers until the day that she dies, but she has accepted it and learnt to understand it in a way no one else could."

"While I am sure it would be very interesting to anyone who admires Summers..."

The Head Master stood up sharply, still holding Snape's eyes. "Severus, do not let your desire for that position and your initial perceptions of Miss Summers cause you to see her in the wrong light. She is more than she appears, as you already know."

"I am aware..."

"Severus," Dumbledore's tone gentled, one age-spotted hand rising to silence the other man. "Do not fear her." Snape gaped at him mutely. "I do not believe that she would intentionally cause harm to you, or anyone for that matter. She has suffered the same hurts as you, but she has learned to trust again. You fear allowing yourself to trust her. You fear her."

"Fear her?" Severus tried to sound incredulous.

"You heard what I said, Severus," Dumbledore said in a quiet voice, his expression unreadable. "One day, you will have to learn to trust."

"I do..."

An aged hand came to rest on Severus' thin shoulder. "Someone aside from myself and Rupert, Severus," Dumbledore said, his brilliant blue eyes holding Severus' black ones. The Potions Professor looked away, the muscles in his cheeks tightening. "Talk to her, Severus."

"I can not believe that you are encouraging this."

The smile on the Head Master's face positively glowed with mischief. "I have to do something to pass the time, Severus, and this is a good deal easier than learning to water-ski. Especially in these robes."

Leaving Severus with that rather...disturbing mental image, the Head Master walked to the door and let himself out, leaving Snape standing in the middle of the room, a peculiar expression on his face.

***

"What's all this for?"

It was late in the afternoon and the sunset, reflecting brightly on the dazzling snow in the grounds, sent a wash of gold, orange and red into the tower room, where Buffy Summers was standing in the doorway.

Sitting on the floor, a large and very full ice box in front of her, Hermione grinned up at her fellow Professor. "I thought we might have a girly ice cream party," she replied, nodding to scattered of cushions all over the floor. "Just us girls."

"Yeah," Willow agreed cheerfully, flopping down onto the heap beside her lover, giving Hermione an affectionate look. "We haven't done it for a kinda long time and we can talk about our love lives and things! Like we used to!"

Buffy raised her eyebrows. "You do know that normally, we don't have the subject of your love life chairing the meeting and providing ice cream, right, Will?"

"I promise I'll be completely impartial," Hermione said, her eyes twinkling.

Shaking her head, Buffy pushed her boots off and stepped into the room, joining them on the cushions. "So, is it just going to be us, or are we waiting for somebody else as well?"

"I asked Anya," Willow replied immediately. 

"Getting on with her now, huh?"

The red head smiled slightly. "She's not so bad, once you get used to the bluntness and the rudeness and...well, everything," she answered, grabbing a spoon and holding out a hand to Hermione. "Give it!"

"In front of Buffy?" Hermione looked mortified and Willow went scarlet, the brown-haired witch immediately snickering.

"I thought you English ladies were meant to be all prim and stiff-upper-lippy," Buffy noted, pointing at Hermione with her spoon as she claimed a large tub of chocolate ice cream. "You're really...not."

"Happy to know I'm breaking free of the stereotype," Hermione replied amiably. "I have to admit, though, I expected you to be a normal American girl. I expected blonde haired, fashion-conscious...at least you weren't a cheerleader..."

"Um..."

"You _were_?"

"Well, I woulda been, if I got into the team, but Amy - Percy's Amy - had a psycho witch as a mom and she pretty much wiped out the competition to get into the team in her daughter's body.

"I'm beginning to understand that 'school' and 'normal' are two words that will never fit together in the same sentence, where you two are concerned," Hermione said with finality. "I'm very glad I only had to deal with a Dark Lord during my school years. Your school sounds like a place of unnatural evil. I mean, talent shows..."

"Seconded," Willow agreed shuddering. "That was super scary!"

"And here I was thinking that demons and apocalypses were the worst thing we had to face," Buffy remarked dryly, digging her spoon into the sticky surface of the ice cream with vigour. "And demons...did we mention the demons?

"Just once or twice..."

"You have a demon bias," Anya's voice interrupted, as she stepped into the room. "I don't like you making demons negative all the time. It's not amusing."

"This coming from our resident ex-demon," Buffy laughed. "So, Anya, if you had turned back into a human, if you were a vampire, would you be rooting for equal rites for the undead?"

Anya shot a glare of mock-irritation at the Slayer. "Don't be silly!" she exclaimed indignantly. "I just think that your perceptions of demons leave a lot to be desired. Not all demons are bad."

"Let's look at you, An," Willow said. "You were a vengeance demon."

"Well, yes, _I_ was bad," she admitted, as she sat down on the pillows. "But that's because of what humans wished for. I only made their wishes come true and that's not the... ooh! Rum and raisin! I love rum and raisin flavour!"

"When you say vengeance demon...?"

"For spurned lovers and people who had been cheated on," Anya answered around a mouthful of ice cream. "I let them get their revenge on people who had hurt them in whatever way they wished. It's all Xander's fault I'm mortal now."

"And you were going out with him? After he took your immortality?" Hermione's expression was one of confusion. "Wouldn't you have hated him for that?"

Willow raised her eyes ceilingwards. "You have to love the ex-demony logic."

"I did hate him for a while," Anya admitted candidly, licking her spoon. "And then I realised that he was well put-together and he had a large penis, so I decided that I should make the best of a bad situation."

"So didn't need to hear about Xander and his penis in the same sentence..." Buffy muttered, staring fixedly at her tub of ice cream.

"It was very impressive," Anya noted, beaming. 

"I'm sure it was," Willow said, scarlet in the face. "But can we...kinda stop talking about best buddy body parts?"

Anya raised her eyebrows. "What do we talk about, then?"

"You two and what we're going to do about your single status," Hermione answered with a broad smile.

Anya and Buffy exchanged looks, then looked back at the two witches. "You're gonna try and match-make us?" Buffy hazarded.

"We just want everyone to be getting with the snuggly programme," Willow said, her fingers interlacing through her lover's. "I mean, you haven't dated anyone since Riley left, Buffy, and Anya..."

"I just broke up! I don't need a new orgasm friend right now!" Three faces turned to her sceptically. "All right, maybe I do like having an orgasm friend, but I don't want to upset Xander by having one when he doesn't."

"And I kinda don't have time for getting a boyfriend," Buffy added. "Like anyone would want to be involved with a Slayer with a short temper, a Hell-Goddess to fight and too much homework to grade." 

Willow cast a small grin in Hermione's direction. "Well," she said. "We kinda... think there might be someone..."

"Oh?" Buffy looked genuinely surprised. "Who is it and why haven't you introduced us already?"

"You kinda...already met him," Hermione nudged her lover in the ribs and Willow hastily corrected. "Them."

Buffy's hand holding the spoon paused halfway to her mouth, chocolate ice cream dripping down onto her shirt, her eyes going round. "Them?" she uttered in a feeble squeak. "Them who?"

"Um..."

"Well..."

"You can't not tell me!"

Willow chewed on her lower lip. "Um...Ron...kinda likes you. And Sirius."

"Ron? And Sirius?" Buffy squeaked. "Omigod..."

Anya rolled her eyes. "Ron is just like Xander, with red hair, and Sirius...pfft," She made a dismissive gesture with a hand. "Yeah, he is hot and he is nicely put-together, but his hair is too long and he's got a weird sense of humour."

"They both like me?"

"Yes," Hermione replied quickly, before Anya could comment. "We can barely shut either of them up about you when they're here. Surely you've noticed that they both like talking to you about everything?" Buffy went a little pink, making an odd choking sound. "Now, would you be interested in going out with either of them?"

"I-I-I don't have time for a boyfriend!" she exclaimed, poking at her melting ice cream with her spoon. "I have way too much going on right now and-and-and I have to look after Dawnie! And be a teacher! And the Slayer! I can't look after Dawnie, be a good teacher, a Slayer and have a boyfriend!"

"Why not?" Willow asked, raising her brows.

"Because I can't!" Buffy replied. "And I-I-I don't need a boyfriend."

"But don't you want an orgasm friend?"

"Or smoochies?"

"Or someone to cuddle?"

Buffy looked at her friends. "What is this?" she demanded, her face flushing. "Some kind of conspiracy to get me to go date someone?"

"You're saying you don't want someone to snuggle with?" Willow countered.

Buffy, her face going a deep shade of red, shook her head. "I-I don't! Whenever I get smoochy with someone, when there's a super-wiggy big bad around, I always end up getting in trouble because of them! Look at Angel with Spike and Dru! And Riley with the Initiative thing! I don't need that now!"

Willow and Hermione exchanged glances. "Well," Hermione sighed, shaking her head mournfully. "You can't say that we didn't try."

***

"I'm not intruding, am I?"

Motioning Giles into the sunny office, Dumbledore shook his head. "Of course not, Rupert," he said, smiling. The watcher approached the desk, where the Head Master was sitting, an elegant eagle quill in his hand as he wrote in a large book. "Is there something troubling you?"

Sitting down opposite the desk, Giles exhaled a breath. "A little, sir," he replied, running a hand through his hair. "I've been thinking about the past a lot, in the last few days."

"You have been remembering your friends?"

"Wondering how we could have let ourselves be...broken," Rupert said quietly. "We always vowed that we would never let anything come between us, and yet, when Gi... Virginia died, it was the thing that severed the connection. None of us were the same after that. Cath, Ethan...me."

"All people change, Rupert," Dumbledore said quietly. "You, of all people, should know that. Look at the direction your life has taken."

"But Cath...Ethan...they could have...I can't help but wonder if there might have been some way that I could have saved them...helped them..."

The Head Master rose from his desk, walking to a cabinet that stood in the wall and opening it to withdraw a deep, round bowl. Bringing it back to his desk, he placed it on the surface, he gazed into it. 

A figure emerged from the bowl, floating just above the surface: a seventeen-year-old Ethan Rayne, his arms crossed angrily over his chest, an amused look on his face.

"Course it wasn't a curse, Head Master," the figure said, smirking. "I mean, just because the silly twat ended up bent over backwards for twenty-four hours doesn't mean it was a curse."

"Ethan was always closer to the darkness than anyone acknowledged, Rupert," the Head Master said gently, raising his eyes to Giles. "If Virginia McKinnon's death had not been the thing to push him over the edge, then it would have been something else. Just because he listened to you for the most part at school, does not mean he would have listened in the world outside."

Giles nodded reluctantly. "But Cath...she...she was the sweetest girl in the world. I don't understand what had changed to make her be so fixated on vengeance."

"You heard how Virginia died?"

A pained look crossed Giles' face. "Badly," he replied tersely. 

"I assume you did not hear who found her."

The colour drained from Giles' face. "Dear God...Cath?"

Dumbledore's face tightened in pain and he closed his eyes, his hands tightening on the surface of the pensieve. Ethan's form melted back down into the bowl and a new figure emerged.

Small, wearing dark robes that were too big and hanging in tatters around a wiry body, jet black hair twisted into a tight braid, Cathlee Jacobs looked barely a shell of the bubbly, hyperactive girl Giles had known.

"She was still alive when I got there!" the figure was sobbing. "I-I-I had to take out three of them before I could get to her and she was screaming! She was screaming so much!" Tears were visible on the young woman's contorted face. "He-he-he killed her, sir! Right in front of me! Before I could stop him! I should have been faster... I should have stopped him..." 

"Dear God..." Giles whispered, his eyes clouding. "And she never caught him."

Blue eyes held green and Dumbledore quietly answered, "She died by his hand."

"What?!"

"He was the one to kill her," Dumbledore said. "Though - by some manipulation of the system - he still managed to escape with only a slap on the wrists. He claimed it was imperius and, by some absurd reasoning, he was no longer seen as a threat."

"After all that he did...after what he did to Ginger...Cath...Sev..."

The Head Master nodded sadly. "He is very persuasive and has friends in all the places he needed, in order to acquire his liberty, while his former allies and associates were condemned."

Giles' expression darkened. "Before this is over," he said quietly, getting to his feet, his eyes on the kneeling figure of Cathlee, which was still floating over the pensieve, sobbing. "I will see that bastard dead for what he did to them. All of them."

"He is still powerful, Rupert. Do not do anything rash," Dumbledore cautioned.

"I can be patient," Giles said, with quiet determination. "And when he comes out of his viper's nest, I will be waiting." A hand reached out, tenderly touching the transparent figure over the pensieve. "He's going to pay." Giles said, in a tone, crisp with ice. "With interest."

***

"We have to talk."

"Agreed."

"Dumbledore caught you too?"

Snape nodded once, stiffly, motioning the annoying little hussy into his classroom and shutting the door behind her, making sure to slide the latch to make certain that they weren't disturbed.

The dungeon was cooler than usual, having been sealed up from Christmas, the air so frosty that it turned their breath into white mist. The torches were illuminated and crisp, bright sunlight filtered in through the narrow widows, high in the walls.

Still, he managed to pull the shadows at the furthest side of the room around him, crossing his arms, the darkness causing his eyes to almost vanish into the shadow, but for the malevolent glitter she recognised.

"So...what happened?" Buffy sat on the edge of the desk nearest them, folding her arms over her chest, gazing up at him. She was wearing his gifted robes once again, he noticed with irritation.

If she hadn't been so down-right annoying at this moment, she might have looked cute, the robes clearly too big for her small form, the fabric of her sleeves almost hanging down to her knees.

Still he forced his attention back to the question, resisting the urge to push some loose strands of blonde hair back, over her shoulders.

"You know very well what happened, Summers," he snapped. "You wanted to test me. I returned the favour."

"By sticking your tongue in my mouth?" She stood up, her voice rising.

"In case you had conveniently forgotten, Summers, I certainly wasn't the only one to partake in tongue-in-mouth behaviour," he hissed, taking a step towards her, his eyes glittering dangerously.

The small blonde took a step towards him, her eyes narrowed. "Well, Snapey, you were the one who started it."

"Which just happened to be because you accosted me outside my quarters."

"I didn't ask you to kiss me!"

"Actually, I beg to differ."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes."

With every word, they had been getting taking deliberate, angry steps towards one another, Buffy's head tipped back to glare at the man who stood head and shoulders taller than her. 

Her hands on her hips, her hazel eyes flashed fire at him. "You really are the most conceited, arrogant, moody jerk that I've ever met. and since I know Spike, that's really saying something."

Snape glowered down at her. "I don't know how anyone can stand to have you around, you infuriating little hussy!"

"Likewise, Mr Eternally-Bad-Moody!"

"If you weren't a woman, I would..."

"Would what, Snapey? C'mon! Be a man!" She poked him in the centre of his chest.

"Desist," he snarled.

She poked him again. "Whatcha gonna do?"

"I said," He grabbed her by the upper arms, hard and tight. Buffy gasped, her heart skipping a beat, wondering if he was going to do what he had done to her several days previously. His voice was dangerous. "Desist."

She was released immediately and the Slayer scowled, pushing past him hard and stalking towards the door. "Get outta my way, you big jerk," she snapped. "I don't have to take your crap."

"Summers." The angry note was still in his voice and she stopped at the door, not even bothering to look back. "We're not finished here."

"Oh yeah?" She turned around to glare at him, only to be slammed up against the door, his mouth coming down hungrily on hers, her arms instantly sliding up and wrapping around his neck.

Breaking out of the hard kiss, he growled, "Yes." before claiming her mouth again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN - I honestly don't know whether to love or loathe this pairing. I mean, I can't stand Buffy. I really really don't like her. And Snapey...he's one of my favourite characters. This ALWAYS happens! My favourite ends up sharing spit with my least favourite! Although, admittedly, I love writing this odd-couple, either when bickering or snogging. Its always fun, especially with Crankenstein :D

Also, so you know, this story is plotted in detail, to the bitter end, and there's no way that I'm changing anything. It's too neatly organised in a nice, shiny spreadsheet for me to change things now.

Anyways, coming soon in the next chapter of The Eighth Weasley - Hogwarts has some unexpected guests, a demon shows up in the Great Hall ("Not again," I hear you cry!) and a threat that has been looming for a while finally descends on a certain individual without warning. All this and more in the coming chapter!


	47. In With The New

The Eighth Weasley 

The Eighth Weasley - Chapter Forty-Seven In With The New

Notes: This is going to be an odd chapter. I can't wait. Can't think of anything much else to except that I'm still working back from 52, which is really a bit stupid...and that I'm extremely sleepy. And whee! Semi-naked Spike appears shortly before I start giving him depths! Be afraid! Be very afraid!

New notes (Jan 11th) - What? I'm going through all chapters I've had written since Oct/Nov and commenting on them. This one's admittedly one of my favourites :) I have odd taste. And I am honestly having far too much fun with this whole storyline. 

Oh, and when I say 'bitter end', don't take it to mean angsty-end. I prevented Joyce from dying of cancer to make this less angsty. This isn't an angst fic. Or, at least, I'm hoping it won't be one. What I meant is that NOTHING anyone says is going to change my mind about what happens :) 

Now...here's the challenge - stick with me until the end of this monster :D Only 28 chs after this one. Egads. So many chapters. I've never written anything this big before.

And whoo! This is the biggest chapter so far, by a couple of hundred words. Spiffy!

___________________________

Pulling the painting closed behind him, a candle in his hands, the canvas behind him thick enough to block out any light, Spike yawned as he made his way across the room. It was small, but a lot more comfortable than his crypt in Sunnydale.

Here, he had a bed, a chair to throw things over unceremoniously - which he did well, after years of practising the same because it had driven the neat-freak Angelus up the wall - and a chest of drawers, all a vampire really needed at all.

A lazy smile crossed his lips as he placed the candle he was carrying on the small chest of drawers that stood beside the four-poster double bed that took up much of the stone floor.

He had just been helping in a class full of fifth years.

They had been the first ones in the school, so far, to see him for what he really was and he honestly thought some of them had cacked their pants at the sight of his true vampiric face.

Apparently, most of them had assumed that he was just a random piece of eye-candy that the Professor had brought along to keep her company and who was also known for lurking around the classroom of the Deputy Head Mistress, who - everyone had believed - would never associate with a vampire. 

Okay, he was a rude, foul-mouthed, leather-wearing, bad-attitude-bearing piece of eye-candy who was rarely seen to eat anything, but apparently they had all assumed he was human.

He smirked to himself.

One of the silly bints in the class had fainted when he had growled at her.

Humans were really just too much fun.

Stripping off his jacket, he tossed it carelessly over the chair that stood a foot from the end of the bed and it was rapidly followed by his shirt, T-shirt and jeans, leaving him clad in his boxers.

Yanking the dark blood-red - he chuckled at Dumbledore's quirky sense of humour - blankets and white sheets back on the bed, he flung himself down on the soft mattress and did something that no one in the Scooby Gang had ever or would ever see him do.

Withdrawing a pair of rectangular gold-rimmed glasses from a case on the chest of drawers beside his bed, he put them on and picked up the hefty book from the top of the cabinet that - along with the spectacles and the rather spiffy room - had been a gift from Dumbledore on his arrival.

He liked the old Wizard, he really did.

Dumbledore had qualities that no human he ever met had shared. 

Except perhaps Minnie. 

While Dumbledore was amusing and witty with an innately quirky nature, as well as having a mind that resided in the gutter, though very few people realised it, he had a side that Spike found fascinating.

The powerful side.

The sheer, undiluted power rippled from the wizard in throbbing waves, controlled and concealed under the mask of that gentle, rather frail grandfather figure which most people saw him as.

Along with the Slayer, her bratling sister, Dawn, and Minnie, of course, Spike could easily accept that Dumbledore would be added to his list of people that he would be willing to lay down his life for.

Stupid really, considering he was dead and all, but very few people stirred such an emotion in him.

Yes, it had taken a while for him to accept that he had grown to love first Minnie, his feisty witch, the Slayer and her squirt of a sister in turn, but now...

Dumbledore was like family, in an odd way.

He had all the qualities that Spike liked, except perhaps the compulsion to drink blood and kill things randomly. Dumbledore had control, which Spike knew he had a distinct lack of and part of him wished he had got to Dumbledore, when the wizard was younger and turned him.

He would have been perfect.

Which is exactly the feeling that the vampire had when he considered what he would have done with the Slayer and her sister, had he been given the chance.

Shaking his head, Spike grinned a little. 

Yeah, the people he protected with his life were the ones that he would have wanted to turn the most.

Or keep as fiery partners for wild, clawing, rolling-on-the-floor shagging in Minnie's case, although now, he imagined her more as the tough bird he could get pissed with in a pub, before joining a riot. 

It was still hard to believe she had been the strict, disciplinarian Deputy Head Mistress of a wizarding school for nearly forty years.

Life was funny that way.

Reaching behind his back, Spike yanked the thick pillows up against the headboard and settled back against them, the blankets and sheets strewn lazily over his hips, opening the book at the point where he had reached.

He had barely read a line when the candle sputtered out.

That - in itself - was very odd, because he was in a sealed box of stone deep inside the school and draughts were nigh impossible in the room. He jerked upright in the bed, his face shifting to stare around the darkness of his room. 

A low chuckle from nearby made him look around suspiciously. 

"Whose there?" he demanded sliding towards the edge of the four-poster bed, only to feel something press down on the other side. Whatever the something was, it was crawling across the bed to him.

"I think you know..." a reedy female voice whispered in his ear, a slender hand sliding over his shoulder and down his chest, nails ticklishly scratching against his skin. "My little pet..."

The blonde vampire's eyes grew enormous. 

His Sire! His bloody Sire was in Hogwarts! Drusilla, the insane vampiress who had 'made' him over a century ago was here, in Hogwarts, in his room! Bollixed to hell didn't come close to describing this scenario! 

Mentally, he was screaming all manner of rude things that would probably have had him kicked out the school if he said them aloud. 

"You...you came back?"

"The little puppy didn't think mummy had gone away for ever, did he?" Cool lips stroked down his throat making him shiver. A second hand ran over his tousled hair and his face was turned towards his visitor. "Peekaboo."

"How...?"

A fingertip touched his lips. "Don't snap so, my Spike," the raven-haired woman breathed, her face nearly touching his. "I would be frightfully cross and would have to spank you..."

"But the school..."

"It's a reunion, all over again, mmm..." she purred against his ear. "Always welcome the naughty pupil, who used to hide in the clock tower..."

"You...you came here? You were a witch?"

"Ding dong, my little Spike. Mother would not have tolerated such naughtiness in the eyes of God. Magic....always whispering in my head...but no, my sweet. This was not my place. Mother told me no. The naughty snake opened the door to us," Her tongue curled around his earlobe. "I have come to play hide and peek...count to ten and I shall find what I seek..." Her teeth scraped over his pulsepoint making him shudder and it wasn't with pleasure.

This just wasn't what he needed.

Not now.

Not when he had formed a new family, a new allegiance.

Grabbing the vampiress' arms, he pushed her away from him. "What do you want, Dru?" he demanded harshly. "What are you doing here?"

"The gleaming one..." she said, her voice misty and dreamy. "She wishes to unlock the door, but she can do no such thing..." She pouted, making a strange whimpering sound in her throat. "Do you know why, my Spike?"

"No, pet. Why?"

Arching forward against his hands that were holding her upper arms, Drusilla's face was barely a breath from his. "Because," she hissed, craning towards him. "The bad slayer has stolen her key..."

"The key?" Spike's jaw felt like it had locked, a spasm shooting through his cheek.

"Mmm..."

"And you've come to get the key?"

The vampiress giggled. "Why, my Spike, I do believe you are thinking about being a tattle-tale!" she tutted, shaking her head, her hair swirling around her face. "I shall tell you no more."

"Dru, pet," he cajoled, releasing her arms. "When could I ever resist you?"

Drusilla pouted at him. "When you started to hide behind the Slayer's apron, my pet, you could resist..." Her right hand caught him in a hard slap that knocked him back with the force. "It is frightfully naughty."

Grimacing, Spike rubbed his stinging cheek. "Pet, please, tell me...are you going to kill her?" 

A slim hand slapped against his chest. "My Spike," there was a note of reproving irritation in her voice. "You are asking all kinds of questions. You want to tell your fair lady with sunshine in her hair and dust on her fingers."

"Luv, if you're going to kill the Slayer and the niblet, I want to help," He grinned at her through the darkness, silently hoping and praying that she wasn't doing her mind-whammy on him. "Nothing quite as sweet as the young ones." 

In less than three seconds, he was on his back in the middle of the bed, with his Sire straddling his belly, her cool, familiar hands spread on his chest. "If you can tell me the magic word that makes the angel fly away..."

"The painting password for their room?"

"That's my clever Spike..."

He shook his head. "I don't know it," he lied, gasping as her nails bit into his skin.

The irritation in her voice became a low growl of anger. "You are telling such filthy fibs, you naughty boy. I am displeased," He felt Drusilla's body pressing down against his and it wasn't in a pleasant way. "You will do what you are told, my wicked little pet. Mummy is home."

The savage gleam of the golden eyes, the only thing he could see in the dimness of his room, made the one hundred and twenty-eight year old vampire want to curl up in a ball and cry.

***

"So, how are you doing, Aragog?"

The spider clicked his pincers. "We are recovering, young one," he answered, as Xander continued to unwind the healing strips that Hagrid had placed on his arachnid friend's wounded limbs.

It had been weeks since the attacks had happened, when the demons that invaded the Great Hall had swept through the hollow where the majority of the spiders lived, a large contingent of their family wiped out.

Aragog had been badly injured when he blindly struggled into the fray to help his children and grandchildren. It had taken all his strength to drag himself to the edge of the forest to tell Hagrid of what had happened.

After filling in the Head Master and checking that everyone in the school had been all right, Xander had offered to help Hagrid to patch up Aragog's wounds, the spider forced to remain just inside the edge of the woods until he regained his strength.

A shelter had been built for the arachnid by the boy and the half-giant, to protect the blind old spider from the winter elements and, for the first time in his life, he had accepted the presence of someone besides Hagrid as a friend.

It had only been a few days earlier that Aragog had returned to the Hollow and, as Hagrid had his hands full with grounds-keeping, Xander had offered to go to check on the giant spider for him, to be sure that the wounds were healing.

While Willow and Buffy had both shuddered when he had informed them of what he was doing that day, at breakfast just an hour before, he couldn't understand why they were still terrified of the eight-legged creatures.

"And it looks like this leg is all right, as well," he noted, touching the healed patch on the limb gently. The tissues had knit together, although there was a bare patch, where savage claws had torn the spider's limb open.

"I am grateful to you, young one," the spider's voice was punctuated by the rhythmic clicks of his pincers. "There are very few of your kind who would treat my kind with such courtesy."

"If Hagrid likes you," Xander replied. "You can't be bad."

Aragog laughed, a deep, booming sound. "Many would disagree with you about trusting the opinion of Hagrid, young one," he said, painstakingly shifting a huge leg to allow Xander access to the bandages on it. "After all, he favours those that most would revile."

"He's a good guy. He knows that you don't have to trust appearances. I mean, you just gotta look at him to see that. Anyone would think he was some kind of monster, but he's a real nice guy."

The spider's head twisted and he nodded slowly. "Yes," he agreed ponderously. "He is a rarity, indeed. As are you."

"Me? Nah. I'm nothing special."

Aragog studied him. "You are here, in our Hollow, young one," he said after several moments. "Very few would be and yet, you aid us. You aid the creatures that many of your kind hate and fear."

Xander went a deep shade of beetroot. "Well, I had to help," he said, blushing. "It's no big deal, really." He turned his attention to Aragog's bandaged leg, unwinding the healing linens. 

"You have no wish to be with your friends?"

"They're all real busy right now," the boy answered. "I wouldn't want to get in their way and all the magic up at the school...I mean, I don't really mind magic, but in the school, there's just way too much. I don't feel comfortable with it."

Aragog made a sound of appreciation for Xander's words.

A clicking sound from nearby made Xander look up, as a fairly large spider dashed past, chasing a group of smaller ones, identical in shape and pattern. Charging into the middle of the group, the large spider's clicking grew more frenetic, as the little ones swarmed all over it.

"She is their dam, young one," Aragog said, clearly understanding that Xander's hand stilling meant that the boy was watching. "They are playing together. They are causing her no harm."

"I was kinda wondering," Xander admitted. 

"Her lifemate was killed in the attack," the spider said, a tone of sadness in his deep, clicking voice. "She has many children and no mate with whom to raise them. It will be difficult for her." 

Xander looked up at the spider. "Are they your grandchildren?"

"Many generations on, yes," Aragog said. "We are a close family. She will have help from our kind, but it is difficult when a lifemate is lost."

"Have you...did you have a lifemate?"

Aragog's head swivelled in Xander's direction. "You believe I was able to lay the eggs to produce a family as extensive as this one, young one?" He chuckled again. "I might be a rare breed, but I have not yet been able to reproduce myself." Xander had to smile at that. "But yes, young one, I had a lifemate. She died, many years ago."

"Oh...I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"Because...she died..."

"You were not to blame, young one," Aragog countered. "There is no reason for you to apologise. We had many years together and for those years, I am grateful." Xander nodded, understanding. "And you, young one. Do you have a lifemate?"

"Me?" Xander laughed at the thought, returning his attention to Aragog's strips of bandage. "No. I...I've had girlfriends, but I've never found someone who would stay with me for life. I don't think I'm the settle down kinda guy, really."

"Your temporary mates did not satisfy you?"

"What's with the big curiousity in my private life?" Xander inquired, half-laughing.

Aragog cocked his head. "I have never understood human mating procedures, young one," he explained. "I am curious."

"In that case, yes, they satisfied me when were together, but we...grew apart. We changed. In a few cases, they changed big time," He shuddered at the memory. "A preying mantis and a mummy were two of the worst."

"You have chosen mates outside your kind?"

Xander pulled a face. "Not by choice," he replied. "They were both dark magical beings or something like that. Not of the good. All of the others I was involved with were human."

"You have a temporary mate now?"

"I did, until a few weeks ago," Xander replied, checking the wound, which was in the same condition as the one on Aragog's forelimb. "This leg is healed as well. Got any more?"

A third leg was shifted and Xander ducked around Aragog's body to reach it, leaning against the spider's shaggy side, avoiding the largest patches of sticky webbing around his feet.

"This mate was not to your liking?"

"She was great," Xander replied, speaking up a little, as he unbound the next strip of bandage. "But she...we were way too different to stay together much longer. I always end up picking people who are nothing like me."

"You see good in them."

"I guess so," Xander agreed pensively, wadding the pile of healing strips together then ducking under Aragog's massive foreleg to reach the patch of padding on the spider's side.

The spider was silent for a moment, but for the steady clicking of it's pincers. "You say you have changed, young one," he finally remarked. "If you have changed, then would you perhaps be more suited to one of your previous temporary mates?"

Xander's hand stilled on Aragog's side. "I guess..." he replied. "But I don't know what the deal is with them. I mean, one of them has...well, I'd guess Hermione would be Will's lifemate...but Cordy..."

"Cordy?"

"My first girlfriend," Xander answered. "We hated each other for years and then we ended up together. We argued all the time, even when we were together, because it was a normal thing for us to do."

"Humans are very strange," Aragog decided. "I do not understand your kind."

"Gotta agree with the strangeness of us," Xander laughed, removing the last patches of wadding from the healed wounds. "I'm a human and I don't even understand us and..." He paused, looking around. "What's that noise?"

Aragog's massive body heaved up. "One of my grandchildren...with word..."

The young man looked around at the rapid approach of one of Aragog's smaller kin, the foot-long spider scuttling over logs and branches towards them, its pincers clicking wildly. 

"What's he...er...she...um...what's the news?"

"New creatures have arrived at the school," the small spider chittered nervously. "A demon and a vampire..."

Before the smaller spider had even finished talking, Xander had dived out from beneath Aragog's body and was sprinting, at full speed, through the Dark Forest, back towards the castle.

***

It was pitch dark.

That should have made it intolerable.

It didn't.

Oh, God, it didn't!

The Slayer groped out behind her, a low shelf stabilising her until her assailant jerked her sideways, making her lose her footing and stumble back, his rough hands the only thing keeping her from falling.

Buffy released a grunt when she was slammed back against the brick wall, the tall, dark figure descending on her and crushing her mouth was his.

Harsh fingertips bit into the small of her back and she released a sharp gasp as a stinging bite was placed on her throat. "Don't you dare give me another hickey, you moody bastard," she hissed.

"Wouldn't dream of it, impertinent tramp," Snape's voice was a low hiss against her throat and she moaned as he nipped under her jaw, then somehow managed to find her lips in the darkness.

Thrusting her hands into his hair - which really felt incredible, like cool strands of silk against her skin - she twisted to force him up against the unseen wall, breaking out of the kiss, panting. The air was stuffy, scented with preservative fluids, but that didn't stop it feeling so damn good.

"You really are a stuffy Goth, y'know."

Their lips clashed again, harder, his callused hands pinning her slim upper arms by her sides, knowing full well that she could break his grip, but pulling her forcefully against his chest.

One hand slid down and under her robes and she shuddered in pleasure at the feel of his fingers scraping her knee-length skirt up her thigh, every callus and ridge of his hands rough against the smooth skin.

His lips touched her throat and she jerked against him when he lightly bit the scar on her throat, then flicked his tongue over it, tracing the outline.

"Holy..."

"Sh," His mouth silenced hers briefly. "No such language, you avaricious trull."

"Mmm...nice one, Snapey..." She chuckled at his low, throaty growl of aggravation at the nickname. "Trull...are you...oh God..." Whatever she had been considering asking trailed off as his body was pressed flush against hers.

His hand gripping her thigh, he jerked her leg up to the level of his hip, coarse material of his robes making the sensitive skin of her inner-thighs tingle. His mouth continued to ravage her throat, her little moans growing louder.

"Professor Snape?" a voice called, muffled by wood and stone.

"Dammit!" Snape hissed.

Buffy couldn't help it.

She released a giggle.

A dry hand pressed over her mouth, Snape's other hand on her back, holding her firmly against him. "Shut up, you silly girl," he whispered, sounding more than a little frustrated with her.

Sniggering behind his hand, she listened intently, but apparently whoever was in the classroom had departed and the Potions Master released her, leaving her ready to drop on her ass on the floor.

Nothing like being interrupted to ruin the mood.

Although, there wasn't really a 'mood' for what they were doing.

Random groping and smooching sessions in various places were hardly the means that lead to a happy and fulfilling relationship, although it had been happening on a regular basis for nearly two weeks. 

A blaze of light filled the supplies cupboard and she squinted, raising a hand to shield her eyes. She could see Snape silhouetted in the doorway and wondered briefly why he had stopped short.

Straightening up, she smoothed her skirt back down to it's proper level, adjusting her robes and hurrying forward, smoothing her hair until she reached Snape's level and also stopped short, blood rushing to her cheeks.

"Omigod..."

"I do prefer Albus, Miss Summers," said Dumbledore, sitting on the edge of the desk in front of them, smiling. 

"Head Master," Snape side-stepped a little way away from the Slayer. "I'm afraid you caught us at a rather...bad moment."

"Yes," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at them both and Buffy wished the floor would open up beneath her. She couldn't remember being so embarrassed about anything, ever! Her lips were swollen, her hair and clothing mussed and she knew that he knew exactly what they had been doing. "I'm sure you were simply having a very close inspection of the interior of the supplies cupboard."

"Well, yeah! Of course!" she exclaimed. "What else would we be doing?"

Dumbledore looked at her and she was sure, absolutely without a doubt certain, that he was smirking!

Snape was scowling at Dumbledore and seemed to be sharing the Slayer's present desire to smack the old wizard over the head with something big, heavy and hard to get that smirk off his face.

It wasn't right!

Dumbledore wasn't meant to smirk like he knew exactly what was happening.

"If you're so good," she said, remembering something that she had discussed with him several days before, pointing at him. "Why were you sneaking to the astronomy tower at four o'clock in the morning?" 

She felt more than saw Snape's eyes flick to her, then to Dumbledore, who had gone a rather fetching shade of pink beneath his beard.

The Head Master got his feet much more quickly than the Slayer believed he could move and sniffed. "I had to be certain that no pupils were utilising the tower for... inappropriate behaviour. Although," he gave her a shrewd look. "I hear cupboards are far more fitting this year."

Beside her, Snape growled.

Dumbledore chuckled, smoothing his robes. "As it is, Miss Summers, I did actually come down here to inform you that you have a delivery awaiting your inspection in the Entrance Hall," he said.

"You came down here instead of going to my classroom?"

"It was rather fortunate, that I had such foresight, was it not?" The twinkle was back in his eye and he smiled. "And I didn't even have to resort to locking the pair of you in a room together. The Potions cupboard served quite well enough, I see."

Buffy went shocking pink again, while Snape's face seemed to develop to very red blotches on his cheeks, his fists clenching by his sides in a manner that made the Head Master chuckle.

"I'll go and get my delivery," the Slayer announced firmly, squeezing past Snape to get to the door of the class, deliberately rubbing against his body and earning another low growl from him. "Oh and I think you made 'trull' up, you...uh...big jerk."

Black eyes flashed at her. "Oh, very imaginative, you incorrigible reprobate."

"Are you sure that's a real word?" she asked, pausing at the door. "The incorri-one?"

"Of course it's a real word," he snapped, huffing a breath out of flared nostrils. 

She grinned at him and she could see his fingers twitch like he wanted to grab her by the throat and shake her. "Just checking," she said, before striding out of the room, leaving Snape scowling after her and Dumbledore chuckling.

"You are a most fascinating pair to observe," the Head Master remarked cheerfully. Snape said nothing, his lip curling in distaste. "I assume that you will shortly be following her upstairs, to see what her delivery is?"

Snape glared at the old Wizard. "I wouldn't waste my time," he spat.

Dumbledore looked towards the ceiling, the impish twinkle back in his eye. "Just as you said you would not waste your time enclosed in a potions supply cupboard with the Slayer, doing that which I have no idea about?"

"Oh..." Vivid blotches of colour reappeared on the Potions Master's face. "Shut up!"

Still chuckling to himself, the Head Master got to his feet, smoothing his robes down, and made his way past the glowering Potions Master, convinced he could hear a low growl emanating from him.

Like Buffy, he paused in the doorway. "If I were you," he said with a small smile. "I would make my way up to the Entrance Hall now. After all, there may be something dangerous awaiting her."

A thump sounded from the desk, when Snape slammed his fist down on it.

"I suppose that is a 'maybe'," Dumbledore said jovially, before exiting the room.

***

"Luce, babe, there's a big old owl outside the window."

Lucius Malfoy looked up from the immense book of spells he had been perusing, searching for a way to break past the protective barrier that had surrounded Hogwarts, with his lover's additional power.

At the massive windows, a dark smudge against the backdrop of the pale, cool grey January skies, his own owl stood patiently. The sun was visible only as a marginally paler smear against the overhung sky outside, even though it was near noon.

So...there was a mid-day delivery, which meant it could only be from one person.

"Ah, Lucifer," he murmured, rising from the desk and approaching the window. He opened it to allow the owl to present him with a scroll bound with a black ribbon. "It appears that your young lady has deigned to correspond with us, my dear."

Lazing on the couch, one fingertip thrust through the head of an unfortunate muggle, to draw the power from it in slow, satisfying sips, Glory glanced at him over the back of the couch. "In English, baby?"

"Your pet vampire has sent a report," he replied, opening the scroll. "She wishes you to know that she is about to make her play and will shortly be able to deliver your gift to you, with or without her...sweet's aid."

Withdrawing her fingers from the brow of the muggle she had been feeding from, the Hell Goddess rose to her feet and luxuriously stretched her body, the red dress riding up her thighs.

"I kinda get the feeling things are goin' our way, don't you, baby?"

Rolling the scroll up again, Lucius turned to the woman. "I would certainly be prone to agree," he murmured, depositing the letter on the window sill and turning to face her. "One might even consider celebrating this step forward."

"Mmm-hmm..." Glory purred, strolling towards him and sliding her hands up the folds of his loose, white shirt and over his shoulders. "So, baby, how'd'you..."

The door opening interrupted any question she might have asked.

Draco Malfoy looked into the study and, more importantly, at the scarlet-clad Hell Goddess, who currently had her arms draped around his father, both of them standing in front of the windows. His eyes flicked to the babbling muggle rocking on the floor, his lip curling.

"Father," he acknowledged.

"Ah, Draco," Lucius replied, one arm snaking around Glory's waist and caressing her back. "This had better be important, my boy."

Youthful grey eyes flashed at Glory, who smirked and spread her hand on Lucius' chest. "I have to agree with your daddy, Draco, honey," she cooed. "Me and him...we have some celebrating to do and you're kinda a bit too...well...not invited."

"Father," Draco repeated, his expression hard. "Mother wishes to see you."

"Your mother understands the need for patience. I do not answer the immediate whims of a woman," Lucius said, waving his hand dismissively. "I will be with her shortly. Now, off with you."

Draco's eyes flashed dangerously and he stalked out.

"Now, my dear..." Lucius turned his attention back to his lover. "Something is troubling you?"

Glory's eyes lingered on the door of the study. "I don't like your boy, Luce, and the feeling's mutual," she replied, her expression darkening. "If you don't warn him to mind his manners, I won't be blamed..."

Lucius caught her chin, turning her face back to his, grey eyes meeting blue-green, a slight smirk on his lips. "My dear Goddess," he said softly. "What makes you think I would desire to warn him?"

Her brow furrowed slightly, then she beamed at him. "I knew there was a reason I liked you, Luce," she said, before kissing him.

***

"Will you let me out of here?"

"All right, already! It's not like you haven't been locked in a box before!" 

The sight that greeted anyone passing through the entrance Hall was certainly absurd to say the least: a gorgeous, well-endowed brunette struggling with the lid of a large, sealed box that looked like it was made of lead, yelling at it in frustration.

It was about seven feet long and three feet deep and wide. And it was rocking on the floor, as if something was battling to get out of it.

"Cordelia?" The young woman struggling with the lid looked up. "Cordelia! Oh my God! Cordy!" A small blonde flew across the checked black and white floor, hugging the brunette. "What are you doing here?"

Cordelia pulled a face. "Had one of those wonderful vision things and, I have to say, not getting any funner." She studied the Slayer. "And what the hell are you meant to be, all robey and badly-dressed?" 

"Would you believe I'm a teacher here?" Buffy gestured around them, at the marble staircases, moving paintings and students who were lingering as they passed on their way to the Great Hall for lunch.

"Teacher? You? Puh-lease!"

"Uh...hey, Buffy..." a sheepish voice spoke from the box on the floor and the Slayer looked down, eyes widening. 

"Oh yeah," The brunette nodded towards the box. "Angel."

"Why is he in a box?"

"Sunlight." 

The Slayer nodded, bending and easily ripping the metal lid off the box, her former boyfriend erupting from the box, gagging. He looked even paler than usual and his eyes were burning gold, ridges and fangs visible.

"Don't ever let me agree to that again." 

Buffy stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm guessing you're here because of one of Cordy's visions?"

Angel nodded, leaning heavily against the side of his travelling case, taking deep gulps of air, even though he didn't need it. "And Dru..." he said. "She's back and she had Darla. Darla...she disappeared, but Cordy saw Dru here...near you."

"Darla? But you poofed Darla..."

"Long story..."

"Bad guys brought her back from the dead and made Dru vamp her," Cordelia said helpfully.

Angel raised his eyes ceilingwards. "Okay, maybe not so long."

"Any chance of you..." Buffy waved a hand in front of her face, her eyes on Angel's features. "You might scare the kids..."

Nodding, Angel shifted his features back into the human planes. He gazed down at her for a long moment. "How are you?"

"Okay. You?"

"I've been locked in a lead crate for the last three days, to get here, so I'm not exactly at my best." 

"God, can you feel the tension?" Cordelia interrupted, rolling her eyes. "And, hey, Buffy, you might wanna look into getting your Slay-sense checked," She nodded in the direction of one of the doors that opened into the hall. "Vamp at two o'clock."

The Slayer was already reaching under her robes for Mr. Pointy as she turned, then laughed aloud at the sight of Snape standing in the shadows of the stairs, arms folded over his chest, regarding the scene through half-closed eyes. "Him? He's not a vamp."

"Looks like one," the brunette muttered. "Evil enough for it."

"I wouldn't even both trying to stake him, if he was a vamp," the blonde said, her eyes twinkling, when Snape's black eyes narrowed at her. "First I'd have to get through fifty layers of clothing and then actually have to find where his heart is, if he actually has one."

"Who is he, if he's not the big evil?"

Buffy, still chuckling, turned to him. "He's a teacher. Snapey, come on over! Got some people who wanna meet you."

He seemed to glide forwards without moving at all - a trick Buffy had only ever seen Dracula using before and hot damn! It still looked just as impressive, even when it was Snapey doing it.

"You are aware, Summers, that you have just invited another vampire to enter the school?" he said, in his lowest murmur, black eyes locked on Angel's face as the vampire climbed unsteadily out of the crate and stood up.

"Don't you get all moody on me," she replied. "If you must know, it wasn't me that did the inviting. It must have been Dumbledore."

"If you mean that old guy with the big beard, yeah," Cordelia added. "He told me to bring the box in while Lorne unloads the carriage."

Angel had straightened up to his full height, which brought him level with Snape, and he was suspiciously regarding the Potions Master, who was gazing coldly back at him, his eyes black and emotionless.

"So who are you?" the vampire demanded.

"Oh, yeah!" the Slayer interrupted. "Introductions. Snapey, meet Angel also known as Angelus, one of the Scourge of Europe before getting souled up," Angel flinched at the description. "Angel, meet Snapey, Potions teacher, King of the Bad-Mood, former evil-guy-supporting Death Eater and spy for the good guys and all around bad-ass."

"Summers," Snape growled.

"Don't you 'Summers' me, Snapey," she shot a look at him. 

Turning his attention to the vampire, Snape's face was as emotionless as it had ever been seen. Angel, throwing his shoulders back, stared determinedly right back at him, his jaw tensing. 

With the revelations that Angel was a former blood-thirsty vampire psychopath and that Snape was previously an agent of the Dark Lord, there was clearly going to be little good feeling in the room.

"Are you sure it was a good idea to introduce them?" Cordelia asked in a whisper, to Buffy, who was standing back and snickering. "I mean, big, brooding-in-shadows-super-bad-tempered-I'm-gonna-fire-my-employees-and-go-off-on-a-personal-vendetta vampire against big, mean-looking bad-moody guy."

"Just watch," she suggested in a lowered voice. "It'll be...interesting."

The power and dislike radiating from the two men was practically palpable, Angel's eyes flaring into gold as they faced off. However, unlike most people, Snape didn't back down in the face of a growling vampire.

His upper lip curled. "Most impressive."

"I could rip your throat out."

"Really?" Snape's voice was dry. "Oh, I do believe I just pissed myself with terror."

"So you should."

Snape's brow lifted marginally. "Indeed." He looked bored, not at all like he was about to wet himself with fear.

Angel appeared both angry and confused. For the first time in his life, as a vampire, he was dealing with someone who didn't seem the least bit afraid of him, even when in vamp-mode.

And something told him that if Angelus was in control at the time, he would actually like the man he was facing.

For some reason, Angel didn't like that thought any more than he liked the man standing before him and, with a growl, his hand locked around Snape's throat, jerking the Potions Teacher towards him and lifting him off his feet.

"Angel!"

"Shut up, Summers," Snape rasped, glaring down at the vampire. 

He hadn't even raised his hands to try and pry Angel's fingers from his throat, as so many people did when caught like this, dangling inches above the ground. His arms were by his sides, hands clenched in fists.

The vampire couldn't help staring at the human. He wasn't even afraid now. Those eerie black eyes were staring at him with contempt as if he were an example of the lowest scum of the earth.

"So, what do you intend to do now?" he asked, his voice choked, mainly by Angel's hand around his throat. "Kill me?" He made a gagging noise, when Angel tightened his fist, lifting him a little higher from the floor. The Potions Master's face was going ashen, but it wasn't from fear. He definitely was anything but afraid. More than likely it was the lack of oxygen.. "Must say... Dumbledore won't...be pleased..."

"Angel! Will you drop him!" Buffy actually sounded angry and worried. Snape felt his lips rising in a smirk, as spots of black started to edge in on his vision, something that seemed to infuriate the vampire even more. 

Casting the black-clad human aside, Angel snarled.

Snape staggered against the crate, almost falling to his knees, his hands grasping the metal to hold himself upright. Blinking to clear his vision, he slowly straightened up again, turning his chalk-white face back to Angel, his sneer still in place.

"Such a temper," he whispered dangerously, his voice hoarse. His black eyes were glittering in warning. "You ought to be careful who you use it against. Some people may not... appreciate it."

The vampire - much to the surprise of the two girls - back-stepped. He actually looked almost...scared?

"Now, Summers," the dark teacher growled, still glaring at Angel, his upper lip curling. "If you have any of your former lovers, who wish to threaten me in a more professional fashion, I will be in my classroom."

Despite the fact he was as white as a ghost and looked a little unsteady, he pulled himself up and strode off, his black cloak and robes flaring around him in a way that reminded Buffy of Angel's 'King of Pain' look.

"Are you sure that guy is normal?" Cordelia asked, leaning sideways to watch him sweep out of sight.

Buffy smiled weakly at the brunette, although she couldn't help wondering if Snapey was all right. He had looked paler than usual and that was saying something. Still, she was also fighting the absurd urge to giggle.

The face-off between the pair was just how she had imagined it.

Correction, it was even more entertaining.

"Not many people around here are what you can call normal, Cord..." her voice trailed off at the sight of the figure who had just staggered into the hall, laden down with bags.

"Cordy, sweetie! I know you told me to bring the luggage, but honey! Twenty bags has to be overkill!"

The...it had to be a demon, dropped the bags on the floor. He was either a demon, or very green in the face with horns. Yep, definitely demon, but he wasn't acting like the demons she was used to.

"Lorne! Be careful with those!"

Smoothing down his vivid silver-blue suit, the demon gave her a pointed, red-eyed look. "Sweetie, you want a bellhop, check in to the Hilton." He breezed over to the startled blonde. "Oh hey! You must be the Slayer!"

Buffy stared at the hand that was offered to her, then to the demon. "Uh...hi."

"I'm Lorne," Ignoring her lack of hand-sticking-out, he grabbed her hand and raised it to his lips. "Enchante, if I may say, and cute! Tall, dark and broody over there never mentioned just how cute you were, cupcake."

"Huh?"

Cordelia swatted the demon-guy away from the Slayer. "Lorne helps us out sometimes," she explained. "He runs a demon karaoke bar in L.A. and he was told by his source to tag along with us."

"Demon karaoke...?"

"Singin', sweetie!" Lorne said enthusiastically. "Food for the soul, even if tall-dark-and-cranky-pants doesn't agree." He nodded to Angel. Buffy choked back a laugh at the description, then looked around the hall. "You know, I bet the acoustics..."

"No!" Angel snapped. "No singing!" 

Lorne threw a look at the vampire. "One day, mister-I'm-cranky-because-I-travelled-in-a-box, you too will understand the joy of music."

"Music yes, you singing, never."

Buffy couldn't help laughing as Angel sent his glare at the green demon. It was obvious that the vampire was feeling a bit...irritated thanks to his confrontation with Snapey and needed someone to take it out on.

"Look," she stepped between them. "You came here because of one of Cordy's visions. Maybe we should find Dumbledore and the others and see what we can make of it, right?"

"Cute and smart!" Lorne smiled at her. "Honey, I think I'm going to like working with you." He offered her an arm. "May I?"

"Buffy!" a yell rang in from the grounds a moment before Xander ran into the entrance hall, face flushed. He stopped short at the sight of Buffy in the process of looping her arm through the demon's, then appeared to notice the two dark-haired individuals. "Oh...right...you know already..."

"Know what?" Buffy asked, concerned, as Xander doubled over, panting. 

Xander motioned to Cordelia, Angel and Lorne. 

"Was out in the Dark Forest, seeing Aragog," he replied, panting. "Spider showed up... told us that a demon and vampire just arrived...thought you'd wanna know..." He grinned weakly. "Shoulda known you guys would...actually," He straightened up, still breathless. "What are you guys doing here?"

"Vision thing," Cordelia replied, hurrying towards him and grabbing his arm. "You okay, Xander?"

"Yeah...yeah..." He nodded, blinking as she pulled him up and let him wrap an arm around her shoulder to keep him upright. "Just need to...not die...that'd be good..."

"Always the wannabe hero, huh?" She gave him an affectionate smile. "You're just the same old Xander."

"Hey, I got you in my arms again, didn't I?" he retorted.

"Like you wanted," She rolled her eyes expressively.

"As if I wouldn't want that," he replied.

Cordelia stared at him.

"Not to be the one to break up the uber-cuteness of this Hallmark moment," Lorne interrupted, waving a hand. "But we do have a reason for being here and personally, I wanna explain, so I can get to the exploring this fantabulous castle!"

"You'll love it," Buffy said. 

"I bet, sweetcakes," Lorne winked at her. "Angel, you big, brooding hunk of grumpy vampireness, you coming?" Angel growled and Lorne laughed. "I'll take that as a big old yes, then. Lead the way, sweetie!"

***

"You saw what?"

Duncan drew a quick cross on his chest with his finger. "I saw a demon on the way up from the entrance hall, Dawnie," he replied. "Cross my heart. A green bloke with horns and red eyes and everything!"

Grabbing Duncan by the arm, Dawn hauled him into her room, pulling the painting shut behind him. "Okay...let me get this straight," she said, pointing at him, a look of concern on her face. "You saw a demon? Walking into the entrance Hall?"

"Aye!" he exclaimed. "With a big fella with dark hair and a woman with dark hair and big... er... eyes!"

"Eyes?" Dawn gave him a look.

"Aye?" he replied, taking a careful backstep.

"Okay...I'll ignore you being such a boy and you'll tell me what else you saw."

"Yer sister."

"Was she kicking the demon's butt?"

Duncan considered it for a moment, then shook his head. "She was holding his arm and they were laughing about something," he replied. "It was well weird, but I think the big blokey was growling at them."

"Hold on a second...did any of them call each other any names?"

"Er..." The boy paused, scratching his head, his brow wrinkling in thought, then he nodded. "Aye. The green bloke called one of them Angel and the dark-haired woman was hugging Xander."

"Angel?" Dawn squealed. "Omigod! I haven't seen him in, like, forever!"

"We know him, then?"

"Know him? Duncan! He's only the vampire my sister dated for nearly three years!"

Duncan's face went from one end of the colour spectrum to the other, his mouth opening and shutting several times. "He-he's that Angel?" he whispered. "Big? Sticky outy forehead? Spiky hair?"

"Omigod! This is so cool!"

"Aye, but ye said he only shows up when there's trouble..."

Dawn made a dismissive gesture with one hand. "No biggie! Danger comes, Buffy and Angel kick it's collective ass!" She bound over to her side of the room, kneeling down and hauling out a drawer. "I have to give them a welcome surprise."

"No! Dawnie, that's not very nice of ye!"

Dawn pulled out a few T-shirts from the drawer, revealing a stash of bottles. "Who told you I was nice?" she asked with a grin. "So, Duncan, you gonna help me out with this or not?"

Duncan pulled his righteously indignant face. "Yer a terrible influence on me, Dawn Summers," he sighed.

"Which means...?"

"Of course I'm gonnae help ye!" he replied, grinning. "Ye think I'd want tae miss out on all the fun?"

Dawn smirked at him. "You're so predictable."

"Yer such a daft cow," he retorted. "Dae ye see me complainin'?"

They exchanged grins and she tossed a bottle to him. "This is gonna be our best yet."

***

The Great Hall was alive with chatter.

Rumour had it that the Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts had some friends visiting and that one of them might be a demon of some kind, but the teacher had yet to arrive in the Hall.

However, her sister, the muggle boy, Anya Emerson and the youngest Weasley were already sitting at the table near the end of the Gryffindor table. There was a distinct absence of the glaring, blonde-haired man that many of the Gryffindor girls thought was cute.

When Summers Junior had been asked about him, she had looked confused. 

Apparently, he hadn't been seen anywhere in the school by any of the Gryffindor pupils at least since the previous day when he had been in attendance at one of Summers Senior's Defence Against the Dark Arts class.

Someone said something about going to check on him, but at that moment, all thoughts of checking on the blonde hunk fled.

The doors at the head of the hall swung open and an instant silence fell, several people rising in their seats to see who was entering, more than a dozen mouths falling open in shock at the...thing with Professor Summers.

Whatever it was, it was tall, striking and green-skinned with a long nose and chin, as well as green-tinted sandy hair that stood up in a highly-fashionable style. Horns were visible on its forehead, just at the hairline, and its eyes were a brilliant shade of ruby. It was wearing a very bright silver-blue suit.

It really was a demon!

And it was arm-in-arm with the Defence Against The Dark Arts Professor...

Why wasn't she killing it? That seemed to be the question that was being pondered by many of the pupils, as Professor Summers cheerfully lead the green guy into the hall, where he stopped short and stared up.

As usual, the bewitched ceiling matched that of the sky outside, the fading gold of the sunset shooting strands of fire through wispy puffs of gold, purple, rose and silver cloud, against a falling backdrop of deep, misty blue.

Candles bobbed between them and the ceiling, but it did little to obscure the view of the winter sky.

"Oh my God!" he gasped. "Oh, honey, this is beautiful! I have to get one of these! Only, kind of without the L.A. sky, cause hello! Ew!"

"That's what I thought when I saw it for the first time," Summers said, laughing. "I mean the wow-ness of the roof, not the L.A. sky thing."

"Oh God...oh, honey, I have to..." He gave the Professor a hopeful look and she nodded with a broad smile. 

In the dead silence of the Hall, the demon's voice soared out into the most exotic acapella rendition of 'Somewhere over the rainbow' that any of them had ever heard, the acoustics making it ring around them to perfection.

Any jaws that hadn't been sagging moments before, certainly were now.

When the song finally ended, there was an even deeper, awe-struck silence, during which the Professor took the demon's arm and they continued to walk down the central aisle, between the two rows of tables.

"Wow!" A Ravenclaw girl nearby was the first to speak, as the pair passed. "You... wow! Your voice!"

The demon gave her an amiable look. "Glad you liked it, sweetie," He smiled and mussed her hair, as he was dragged onwards by the blonde Professor, the two people following behind them barely even being noticed. "Someone hereabout told me that music is the greatest magic and you know, sweetie, I gotta agree!"

"Professor Summers," Snape stood up at the head table. "What is that..._thing_?"

Everyone in the Hall saw the icy glare that crossed the young Professor's face in the direction of the Potions Master. If looks could have killed, Snape would have dropped dead ten times over.

"I don't know how you did it, petal," the demon bent closer to whisper. "But it looks like we've finally found a real rival for the King of tall-dark-and-moody." He shot a look over his shoulder at the dark-haired man walking behind him. "What's got his panties in a bunch?"

"Guilt, again."

The demon sighed. "Ain't it always the way?"

Professor Summers chuckled, then smiled sweetly up at Snape. "This is my friend, Lorne, Snapey," she said in a voice dripping with exaggerated sweetness. "And if you so much as look at him the wrong way, I will beat you senseless. If you're real lucky, I'll use the axe."

A few pupils chuckled at that. Summers was tiny. So tiny that she didn't come close to reaching Snape's shoulder when she was standing at her full height. Her beating him senseless was an absurd image to say the least.

Only a few of very observant pupils noted that Snape's face went a shade paler than usual and he sat down quickly, a muscle in his cheek twitching. His lips were pursed and he was glaring.

Summers paused right in front of Dumbledore, who nodded, and she turned around to face the hall, clapping her hands for attention. 

"Everyone," All eyes turned to her and her demon friend. "This guy here with me is Lorne and he's from Los Angeles in America. Yes, he is a demon," Gasps rippled around the Hall. "But he's one of the few decent ones, so I don't want any of you trying spells on him or offending him. He's a friend of mine and if anyone tries to hurt him or upsets him in any way while he's here...well, I might be small, but I can still bite a mean ankle!"

A few laughs rippled around the hall and she gave the demon a smile.

Leading Lorne up to the head table, where one extra seat had been placed for him, she hadn't anticipated the delighted squeal from her sister, when the two people behind her moved into the Gryffindor table's line of sight.

"Angel!"

"Omigod! Angel! Cordelia!" Willow was fast to echo it. The red-haired witch and the younger Summers sister practically tackled the startled dark-haired pair, Dawn latching onto Angel like a limpet, while Willow hugged the startled Cordelia.

"Hey...Willow...and you..." Cordelia was studying Dawn in confusion.

"Dawn," the girl replied.

"Buffy's sister?" Willow offered, hoping the two new arrivals would take the hint.

"Oh! Right!" Cordelia threw her hands up. Having been away from Sunnydale when Dawn, as the Key, had arrived, Angel and Cordelia's memories had not been altered to fit the Slayer's little sister in. "God knows where my memory is today, Dawnie! Great to see you."

Angel was looking down at the dark girl - who had locked her arms around his waist and was cuddling against his chest - as if he had never seen her before. Slowly, a smile came onto his face and he returned the hug.

At the Head table between Lorne and Hermione, Buffy blew out a sigh of relief, as she watched her sister drag the vampire and the seer towards the 'Sunnydale' table, where extra spaces seemed to have miraculously appeared.

Xander was smiling at Cordelia, as she sat down next to him. Anya actually glanced in their direction with a knowing look, then her eyes darted to Dumbledore, who nodded, but the Slayer's attention was elsewhere for the time being.

The whole scenario with Dawn as the Key, Glory and everything else being so hectic had been detailed in the brief meeting they had had with Dumbledore, before their guests were shown to their rooms.

It made her feel a little better to see Angel accepting it.

It had startled her how easily everyone at Hogwarts had taken the news as well. 

It wasn't every day - at least not that _she_ knew of - that a key made of supernatural energy was mutated into the human sister of the vampire slaying Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Every member of the teaching staff had listened to the explanation Dumbledore had given, detailing what they had learned about Dawn, and accepted it instantly.

Even Snapey.

Him and Angel had been the two people she had been most dubious about.

"Don't worry, sweetie," Lorne murmured to her. "He may be a big grump, but his heart is in the right place."

"Angel...?"

She turned to find the demon gazing at her, a strange smile on his lips. "I wasn't talking about Angel," he said enigmatically, before turning to Hagrid, who was seated a short distance away from him and offering an introduction.

Shaking her head, confused, Buffy risked a glance along the table to where Snape was sitting. She felt a pang of guilt when she spotted dark bruises at the top of his throat, granted to him by Angel's hand. 

_Mind you_, she mused, _it wasn't exactly your fault they hate each other_.

She glanced at his neck again. The bruises were almost hidden by his high-necked collar. Flicking her eyes up his face, a flush of crimson rose from her chest upwards as she realised that he was watching her from beneath half-closed lids.

It almost made her chuckle to notice he was glaring, again. 

He always looked so grumpy when he looked at her in public...

Omigod...

Flashing an agonised look at Lorne, Buffy felt her cheeks burning. 

Surely he didn't know...

Red eyes turned to her briefly, as if aware of her watching him. "Like I said, sweetie, heart in the right place."

The only sound the Slayer could think to make was a whimper.

Of course, that was seconds before Angel foolishly accepted an offer of a chip from Dawn, with her own special variety of flavouring added to it.

It proved slightly distracting for the Slayer.

Somehow, the thought of being glared at by a grumpy potions Professor was pushed from her mind due to the fact that there was a vampire porcupine making a rapid waddle for freedom up the middle of the Great Hall, while Cordelia and Xander fell against one another, laughing.

"It looks just like his hair," Cordelia gasped, clutching onto Xander's arm.

Xander's face was split by a wide grin. "You know, I never thought there would be a day I'd be so happy to see the soulman," he laughed, as Buffy went racing past, trying to catch the porcupine, in case it wandered into danger.

There were few serious faces left by the time the fleeing porcupine was caught under a quickly-emptied soup tureen which was quickly sat upon by the slayer, to prevent it making another break for liberty. 

Glaring pointedly at her snickering sister and the dark-haired boy next to her, Buffy folded her arms over her chest and pursed her lips. "How long does this one last for, Dawnie?" she asked.

Dawn shrugged, unable to respond for giggles.

"He's gonna be so pissed when he changes back to his normal self," Cordelia noted, but it was punctuated by giggles.

"Yeah," Xander agreed, giving her a knowing look. "But it'll be worth it for all the jokes you can make about his hair."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN: Have you ANY idea how long I've been wanting to post this chapter? Several reasons for it - 

1. The Host! I managed to fit the freaking HOST into a HP crossover story! I love the Host! The Host bakes mah cookies and all that! *smooches to Lorne* He be so kyoote! And see! I told you there would be a demon in the Great Hall!

2. Snape/Angel confrontation - oh, come on! Wouldn't you KILL to see those two face off? 

3. The Dumbledore scene when he catches the odd couple :) That just cracks me up. I love smug!Dumbledore! 

And the only things I actually had to adjust to get this chapter finished were the Glory/Lucius news, the Aragog/Xander scene (which I love, btw) and the in-between scene with Dawn & Duncan, since the balance has shifted so much with them all since I wrote this ch. so many months back.

Coming soon, in the next chapter of The Eighth Weasley - Cordelia (LA's favourite Seer) has a run in with Sybill (Hogwarts favourite 'seer'), Angel finds out something about Spike that rather surprises him. Snape sees his...ahem... enemy (yes, he still maintains that he can't stand her) doing something she shouldn't be with a vampire and much more. 


	48. Seeing Things

The Eighth Weasley 

The Eighth Weasley - Chapter Forty-Eight Seeing Things

Notes: By the time this gets online, it'll probably have been sitting in my computer for six months, because I loved the idea for this chapter so much that I had to type it out right away! (Just so I can check back to it - today is Sunday 13th October 2002)

Also, yes, you will find out what happened to dear little Spikey somewhere in this chapter, since I left you in such suspense with the last chapter. Maybe. I might hold it off to the next chapter...I'm evil like that.

And gyah, this is turning out to be a big chapter - I didn't mean for it to be, but it seems to have taken on a life of it's own! Also, minorly higher rating for a rude word or two and potential character-snuffage :) I say potential. Remember that. People might die. Or they might not.

I feel an evil cackle coming on...

Muahaha!

And I'm done.

****

New notes (Jan 11th) - Just rediscovered this chapter and gosh! I thought 6000 words was a big chapter when I wrote this! How things have changed, eh? Unfortunately, refound this and also found that I'd missed a buncha stuff out. Drat. Will have to add to it. One King-Size chapter coming up.

_____________________

A class of unfortunate fourth years had just climbed in Professor Trelawny's tower room, the dense curls of pink fumes swirling around them, already triggering intense head-aches and feelings of dizziness.

If any of Trelawny's pupils were going to die, it would be because an overdose of lavender incense that killed them.

Like a human-sized, glittering, bespectacled Preying mantis, in search of a victim, the Professor drifted around them, her many gaudy bracelets and necklaces jingling together around her scrawny neck and wrists.

"Sommerset..." she began, only for a voice to interrupt from outside the trapdoor.

"Hey up there!" It was a female voice. Not British, so probably one of those odd, travelling muggle-groups. "Yeah! You at the trapdoor, wanna throw a ladder down so I can see what all this divination stuff is like?"

A visitor interested in divination? Trelawny's bug-like eyes lit up eagerly behind her spectacles. "Do enter, dear."

Immediately, the ladder rolled itself out, the pupils all turning to see if this new adult, who apparently WANTED to know about divination, bore any resemblance at all to the rather frightening, glittering bag of bones that called herself a Professor.

Her head and torso came into their line of sight.

Thuds came from the boys, the sound of their jaws hitting the floor.

A few of the girls reacted the same way.

She most definitely didn't look anything like Trelawny, especially the generous amount of cleavage that was showing as she scrabbled about to try and climb through the hole, without anything to hold onto.

The woman swung precariously up through the trapdoor, landing in a heap on the floor. "Okay, lady...I can understand how that might be fun for the kids," she panted, sitting up. "But word to the wise. Get an elevator."

"Welcome, my dear," speaking in her mistiest voice, Trelawny motioned one of the empty seats nearest her own. "Perhaps you could introduce yourself, for the children, who do not yet know who you are." Her words suggested that she had been expecting this guest all along.

"Me?" Straightening up, the young woman dusted her hands down on jeans so tight they looked like they were painted on, her cream vest-style shirt smoothed back down and adjusted so there wasn't nearly as much breast on display. "I'm Cordelia Chase, American muggle in with the trio who just arrived."

"Do you know that green bloke with Professor Summers?"

Cordelia looked around for the one who had spoken, but all the faces seemed to be asking the question. "Lorne? Sure! He makes my life Hell, when the PTB don't bother sending me a vision."

"A...vision?" 

The class groaned.

Their guest had just said the magic word.

"Yeah, vision. You know, vision? V.I.S.I.O.N?"

Trelawny's eyes were narrowed to crusty black blobs of mascara behind her thick, round spectacles. "You have visions?"

"God, yes! On a regular basis," The woman shuddered. "Someone up there decided that I was going to be Angel, my boss' link to the PTB...uh...that's the Powers That Be, so yep. I'm Vision-Girl."

Trelawny pulled a face that made her look like she had been swallowing rusty nails.

"You...are a Seer?" She studied the young woman dubiously.

Hovering towards the younger woman, Trelawny's puckered lips pursed further. She was around twenty-years-old, with far too much glamour, decent make-up and well-styled hair to be a real Seer.

"My dear, I'm afraid you must be mistaken."

One dark eyebrow arched up in a way that suggested the woman didn't like being told that she was wrong. "Mistaken?" she asked, her voice calm, the brow still held up. "Because I don't dress like the stereotype of a gypsy?"

"The art of seeing is..."

"Don't lecture me, Miss I-need-tacky-jewellery-to-make-me-look-seerish!" Perfectly manicured hands came to flawless hips. "For your information, I have mind-splitting, brain-numbing, head-crunching visions on a regular basis."

Trelawny sniffed. "I'm afraid you find me rather sceptical," she remarked with a air of one who knew everything there was to know. "After all, there are so many frauds in the subtle art of Divination."

"Yeah, and I think I might be looking at one," Cordelia Chase narrowed her brown eyes. "Tell me, Professor, if that really is your title, how many of your premonitions have come true?"

"I need not answer that question," Trelawny replied rather indignantly.

"Uh...huh..." Her voice dripping implication, Cordelia smiled. "I think that says it all, Professor Trelawny." She took a step towards the Professor. 

Every pupil was on the edge of their seat, watching with excitement.

This was just too good to be true!

"You know what I think, Miss-I-have-to-jingle-to-be-a-seer?" Cordelia's voice wasn't the least bit warm. "I think that..." She swayed a little on her feet, one shaking hand coming to her forehead. "I think...omigod!" Her voice was rising in pitch and intensity. "Great timing!"

Several of the girls shrieked as the brunette woman seemed to be thrown backwards, her hand on her forehead. She crashed down on one of the tables, her face contorted in pain, then she rolled and smacked down on the stone floor, hard.

The boys at the table leapt up to go to her aid, reaching out and stabilising her, every face in the room suddenly as white as chalk.

"Oh God! Spike!" Her voice hoarse with pain, she hunched up on her knees on the floor, her left hand pressed in a fist to her stomach, the other one still clamped hard against her forehead.

Shudders were rocketing through the brunette's body and it looked like she was in the middle of a seizure.

Even Trelawny looked a little frightened by what they were all seeing.

"You..." One of the boys supporting Cordelia's arm leaned around to be in line with her face. Her voice was rasping, barely recognisable as a voice at all. She looked like she was in agony, her face contorted in pain, blood trickling from one nostril, her eyes filled with tears. "Yeah...you...go...Professor Summers...tell her to get to Spike...his room... tell her now!"

The boy was on his feet and down the ladder in a heartbeat, despite Professor Trelawny's cry to ignore the hoax.

Cordelia was panting and shivering. "Oh God..." she whispered weakly. "Oh God..."

"I think you ought to leave my classroom now," Trelawny said in a voice none of them recognised. It was at least an octave lower than usual and was shaking with fear combined with anger.

The girl on the floor turned her head to look over her shoulder at the Professor, an expression of contempt on her face. "Yeah..." she muttered, her long hair sticking to the blood trickling down her chin. "If I could..."

That said, her brown eyes rolled up in her head and she flopped onto her side on the floor in a dead faint.

Her left hand fell away from her stomach.

A deep red stain that could only be blood was spreading rapidly through the creamy cloth that covered her abdomen.

***

"What the Hell has he done this time?"

Having left Giles in charge of her first year Defence Against The Dark Arts class, Buffy was storming down the corridors towards the hallway, where Spike's hidden chamber was.

"Buffy."

"Angel."

"I just heard that something was up," He looked down at her. "Mind if I join you."

Buffy's eyes flicked up to her former lover, a weary smile reaching her lips. "Well, it is kinda your fault," she said. "You brought Cordy and apparently she went to the Divination class and showed them what a real vision was."

Angel's face twisted in horror. "Oh God..."

"Angel?"

"It's Cordy," he looked torn between going with the Slayer or running to Cordelia's aid. "Her visions have been taking physical manifestations...where are you going? Do you know what the vision was about?"

"It was about Spike."

The dark vampire looked down at her. "Spike? As in Spike-Spike?"

"Yes, Spike-Spike," Buffy sighed, rubbing her brow as they walked. "He's been helping us lately and now, you show up with the news that Dru might be heading here..." A frightened look crossed Buffy's face. "Oh God! Angel! Spike knows about Dawn! He knows the password to our room! What if Dru...?"

Before she had even finished speaking, she was running, the vampire having to put on a burst of speed to keep up with her, down several long corridors and a flight of stairs into a windowless passage of dark grey stone lit only by torches.

Dark paintings lined the walls and Buffy started scanning along them urgently, her teeth worrying her lower lip as she looked for the right one.

"Is it this one?" Angel nodded towards a fairly large painting further down the hall, a mirthless smile on his face, as the painting smirked down at him.

Buffy looked up to see Spike's features grinning down at her from the painting, only he had long, sandy-brown hair pulled back in a messy ponytail and was wearing clothes that looked like they were from a hundred years before.

The setting of the painting looked like it was a study, but the vampire represented in it was leaning back in a chair, which was tipped at a precarious angle, his booted feet propped against the frame, his hands folded behind his head. 

The small brass plaque on the frame read 'William The Bloody'.

"All right, Slayer?"

"William."

The figure in the painting looked from her to the other vampire. "Where'd ya dig up the poof?"

"No time, William," she said. "We need to get in."

"In that case, pet, you'll need to give me a password."

"Shit!"

The vampire chuckled. "Close, pet."

Buffy stared at him. Surely even Spike wouldn't be that obvious.

"Bloody hell?" she offered.

"What can I say?" the vampire in the painting called as the painting swung open to reveal a small, dark doorway. "I have a God-awful memory."

Ducking into the doorway, Buffy immediately gagged at the scent of blood and burnt skin. A rasp behind her told her that Angel had matches and the light flickered as he lit a candle sitting on a chest of drawers to the right of the door.

"Oh my God!"

Spike's bloody, burnt face turned weakly in the direction of her voice, the flickering flame making it look even worse. "She wants to know...she wants niblet... I... didn't... couldn't tell...she's..." he coughed, blood splashing down his chin. "She's safe... the Niblet... safe..."

His words almost didn't make it past his lips, trailing off in a gurgle, blood rippling out of his mouth in a torrent, his body limp on the blood-splattered bed, illuminated by the candle-light.

Clambering up onto the bed, Buffy slid an arm under Spike's shoulder, lifting him up against her, trying not to hurt the barely conscious vampire any more than was utterly necessary. 

It was virtually impossible not to hurt him, every inch of his body a mass of burns and slashes.

It looked like someone had tortured him with something sharp and possibly Holy Water, as well as a nasty wound to his gut, the perpetrator of which was still sticking out of his stomach. Deep, bloody lacerations visible on his wrists and ankles that suggested he had been bound up tightly, with wire or something similar.

"We need to get him to the medical wing!"

"And they'll do what?" Angel demanded. "He's a corpse, Buffy."

The Slayer shot an anguished look at him. "You don't know the stuff they can do here," she whispered. "I'm taking him to Madam Pomfrey." She swung off the bed, a moan slipping past Spike's slack lips as she lifted him up in her arms. "Get something to cover him with."

Reluctantly, Angel pulled the sheet off the bed and draped it over the blonde-haired vampire, who was limp in his former lover's arms.

In a heartbeat, she was gone and Angel sighed.

Why couldn't she understand that Spike was just a demon? That he couldn't be trusted, because he simply didn't have what it was to make him a good person? That it was only because he couldn't be bad that he was being good?

He would never understand her, he knew, starting to walk after her.

His foot crunched on something and he looked down, startled. Bending, he picked up the pair of glasses and that was when he saw the large, ancient book lying - blood-spattered - on the floor, just under the bed.

Withdrawing it, he carefully picked it up and turned it over in his hands, a frown marring his brow.

Since when did Spike read again?

Ever since Drusilla had turned him, he had pushed his bookish roots as far away from himself as possible, probably because they had done nothing but humiliate him throughout his human existence.

Closing the book over, Angel's eyes caught a glimpse of the title.

His mouth fell open.

The most eloquent thing he could think of to say came in the form of two words:

"Fuck me!"

***

"Sir!"

Snape looked up from the scrolls he was marking in irritation. "Yes, boy?"

A sandy-haired boy, who looked like he was one of the fourth years, was standing at the door, white in the face. Out of habit, Snape's hands flicked down to the hands that were shaking in front of the boy's chest, coming to his feet instantly.

Very few fourth years dared to intrude on him.

Even fewer did so with blood smeared all over their hands and chest.

"What is it?"

"M-M-Madam Pomfrey, Sir," the boy stammered. "She n-n-needs s-s-sanguine potion. As much of it as-as-as you have to spare."

Snape mentally groaned, knowing that he had sent the last he had to her the week before and would have to brew a fresh batch quickly and - even if it only took a few moments - it still might be too late.

"Does she have any left at all?" he demanded, summoning various substances with rapid-fire gestures of his wand. 

"She-she-she says she can cope for about fifteen minutes...at most."

"Very good...very good..." Snape muttered, already starting to heat up the larger cauldron, filling it half full of water. His eyes went to the boy. "Tell her I will have it to her in five."

"Y-yes, sir."

"And boy?"

"Y-yes?"

"What is it for?"

The boy looked even whiter. "The S-S-Seer, Sir. She-she had a vision...it m-made her bleed."

Snape's jaw locked. "Tell Madam Pomfrey that I will be with her shortly," he ordered, his voice clipped. The boy nodded and fled, leaving Snape rapidly brewing up the potion as fast as he could. 

Fortunately, he had all the ingredients ready.

After the fiasco with Summers, when he had been forced into working with youngest Weasley, who babbled with the same consistency as a boiling cauldron bubbled, he had kept a supply ready, just in case the potion would be needed again.

It was out of sheer instinct that he knew Summers' group would be the one to need it on every occasion it was called for.

So, he would have it ready in minutes and then, he could get back to his work.

***

"C'mon, Spike, dammit..." 

Professor Summers' voice reached the Matron of Hogwarts seconds before the small blonde woman kicked open the door of the infirmary and stormed in, a limp, sheet-decked bundle in her arms. 

"Professor Summers!" Madam Pomfrey cried out, already bent over a patient, who was bleeding profusely from a wound to the stomach, that had no source other than a vision she had apparently had.

"Sorry, Madam Pomfrey. Got a patient."

"Take that bed." The Matron nodded towards the bed on the opposite side of the room, where six empty, sun-drenched beds lined the wall but the blonde Professor shook her head. 

"I need one in the shady side of the room," Summers answered tersely, stalking up the middle of the ward to the further bed, which was deep in the shade in the far corner of the room.

Madam Pomfrey muttered something rude about impetuous young tramps under her breath, returning her attention to the wound in the dark-haired girl's belly. Using her healing jelly, she laid some of it on the wound in a solid mass, which fused to the open tear. 

If the Matron hadn't known better, she would have claimed for a fact that the young woman had been stabbed by something blunt but with enough force to rip through several internal organs.

She had already forced several potions down the young woman's throat to slow the bleeding and heal what she could, but she was still waiting for the Potions Master to deliver the sanguine potion, a substance which would generate a fresh supply of blood to replenish that which had been lost.

Having done all she could until the potions arrived, she turned her attention to the other patients. A young Hufflepuff was in with a broken leg from the flying lessons, but other than that, there was only Professor Summers.

Sitting at the far end of the ward, the small, blonde Professor was sitting on the final bed, nearest the large fireplace, where a fire crackled in the grate and had a limp body lying in her arms.

The body was mostly covered by a sheet that looked like it was a deep red colour. It was only as Pomfrey neared that she realised that it wasn't red.

It was blood-stained.

"Professor Summers?"

Tear-filled hazel eyes looked up at the Matron. "Someone hurt him," she whispered softly. "We found him...you have to help him..."

Bending down beside the bed, Madam Pomfrey pulled back the blankets from the face of her latest patient, hissing in shock. She had seen the handsome blonde around the school, but now she barely recognised him.

Laying her fingers against his throat, she shook her head. "I'm sorry, Summers..."

"He-he's doesn't have a-a-a pulse..." the blonde whispered. "H-he's a vampire..."

Madam Pomfrey recoiled in shock. "What?!"

The Professor's hand was cradling the man's cheek. "He-he's a good vampire...well, not good, but he-he-he helped us..." Tears were spilling down her face and she pulled the sheet further down his body. "You...you have to help..."

Madam Pomfrey wasn't listening any longer. She was staring at the vampire's flat stomach in shock. A poker was sticking out of the flesh, exactly corresponding with the wound on the brunette Seer.

"Good God..." she whispered, then shook herself. "First, we have to get that thing out of him." Maybe that would stop the seer's internal bleeding and allow the wound to start to heal - if the source of the injury was removed.

"Take it out."

"It'll cause him pain, if we don't drug..."

"Take it out! He's a vampire! He can tolerate pain!"

Gritting her teeth, the Matron nodded and gripped the handle of the poker. "You will have to hold him, Professor Summers," she snapped, bracing one foot against the edge of the bed, then yanking.

Both the unconscious vampire and the seer at the other end of the room released a loud groan and Pomfrey dropped the bloody poker to the floor, running back up the room to her other patient.

With one leg tucked up under her on the bed, Buffy couldn't bring herself to let go of Spike, where he was half-seated, half-lying in her lap, his head lolling limply back against her shoulder.

He looked so much paler than usual.

Swallowing a sob, she shifted her arm under his shoulder to support his head. She could feel his blood soaking through the sleeves of her robes, but didn't care, as long as he was all right.

"C'mon, Spike," she whispered hoarsely. "Don't you dare un-die on me just when I start liking you, you asshole..."

The vampire made no response.

He was limp, utterly limp.

Buffy whimpered in her throat. She didn't know how to tell if a vampire was so weak that it was undeader than usual, or if it was just unconscious and Spike didn't look like he would be talking for a while.

Madam Pomfrey bustled back up towards her with some bottles and jars of pastes and lotions that she started smearing on the burns and cuts, tapping them with her wand, but they didn't seem to work.

"What are they meant to do?" Buffy demanded.

The Matron frowned. "They should close up the wounds. Even if he is undead, they have been tested," she answered. "But..."

"They're not working..."

"No, Professor, they're not..."

Hazel eyes stared at her frantically. "What does that mean?"

"I...I'm afraid it means that he's too weak to survive," Madam Pomfrey reluctantly said, looking down at the wand in her hand as if it hand betrayed her. "If the wounds cannot be closed, it is because the body knows there is no point."

"No..." Buffy shook her head, crying in earnest, hugging the vampire's limp body to her chest. "No...you can't die, Spike...Dawn would kill me... don't you dare die... don't you dare..."

Madam Pomfrey worried her lower lip for a moment. "There is only one suggestion that I can make and that is to use Professor Snape's sanguine potion, when he gets here. It is a blood substitute..."

"Will he be in time?"

"I...I..."

"WILL HE?"

The Matron avoided Buffy's eyes. "I'm afraid it may already be too late. I am sorry, Professor Summers..." Lowering her head, the Matron turned and walked away, to attend to her living patients.

Buffy could feel Spike's chin rubbing against her shoulder as she rocked him, her sobs shaking her body. His lips were practically brushing against the scars left by the Master, Angel and Dracula and she wished that, right now, he could bite.

If it would save his life, she knew she would let him, like she had with Angel, but even if he had been conscious enough, she was sure the chip in his head would fry his mind before giving him a chance to drink.

"Oh God...Spike..." she whispered. "I-I...wait here...I need to get something..."

As she darted out into the main medical area, ignored by Madam Pomfrey, she almost laughed at the stupidity of her comment. Of course he wasn't going anywhere right now, but if she didn't hurry, he wouldn't be going anywhere ever again.

***

"So what kind of demon are you?"

Sitting in on the Slayer's Defence Against the Dark Arts classes had actually seemed interesting to Lorne, but his presence had only served as something of a distraction, so the classes had rapidly developed into a question and answer session with him.

Sitting on the Professor's desk, Giles watching from the windows, where he was perched on the deep sill, Lorne pulled a face. "Not the kind of demon you'd normally wanna meet, sweetie," he replied.

"Does it hurt having horns?"

Lorne reached up and tapped them. "Not at all," he replied genially. "They came with the package, along with the emerald look and red eyes. Its kind like asking you if it hurts having ears."

"Where are you from?"

The demon beamed at the boy. "Los Angeles, city of the stars."

"No, I mean really from? I mean, were you born in Los Angeles?"

A pained look crossed the demon's green face. The boy who asked the question was immediately punched on the arm by his neighbour for being insensitive. "Lemme just say it's a bad place and leave it at that, okay?"

From that point on the lesson was a little more subdued and Giles could see that the demon was visibly relieved when the pupils trailed out of the room, leaving him sitting on the desk.

"Are you all right?"

"Me?" Red eyes looked at the Watcher. "Oh, sure. Fine and dandy."

"Lorne..."

"Okay, so I'm not," he sighed heavily. "Home was a bad place and I really don't like to think about it unless I really have to. Usually, I make pretty darn sure that I don't really have to..."

Giles flashed a half-smile at the demon. "Believe it or not, I can appreciate the sentiments," he said. "My home wasn't exactly my idea of a happy place, although I would imagine a-a-a Hell dimension is something worse."

"I'll say!" Lorne exclaimed. "I mean, there's no music!"

Giles raised his eyebrows. "That's your reason for hating your hell dimension?"

"That and the clothes. I mean, ew!" He gestured to the brilliant, bright red suit he was wearing. "Looks good on me, right? Now, imagine me in sackcloth and without hair gel. You starting to see why home is my own personal hell?"

"I'm getting the picture," Giles was hard-pressed to smother a chuckle.

"The lack of music was the worst thing, though," Lorne pushed himself to his feet and joined the watcher as they made their way towards the door. "I mean, before I got here, I didn't even know what music was and you only imagine how bad _that _was! I just knew I could hear this sound and that I couldn't be crazy if my mind was telling me that something so beautiful could exist." He shook his head, a faint smile coming onto his lips. "There's something about music that is so magical that nothing could ever take it away."

"Dumbledore often used to say that," Giles agreed.

Lorne laughed. "Somehow, hearing that about him doesn't really surprise me, y'know. Rainbow-Santa looks like he's got the right idea about the world and how we should live in it."

"Rainbow-Santa?"

"Hello? Have you seen the clothes that guy wears? Sweetie, I've seen less colours in an Eighties fitness video!"

Unable to help himself, Giles burst out laughing.

***

With half a dozen large bottles of sanguine potion in a small crate, Snape swept up the long flight of stairs towards the medical wing, the afternoon light cutting in through the high windows and over the white marble.

It had taken him less than five minutes to brew the potion, then it had taken another agonising two minutes for it to cool enough to move it into the bottles which he had waiting, before placing a charm on the crate and leading it to Pomfrey in the wing.

His footsteps sounded deafening on the white stone. Everything seemed to be too quiet, but that was always the case when something had happened of this severity. It seemed that even the birds had stopped singing.

Reaching the top of the staircase, he directed the hovering crate into the medical room, to find Madam Pomfrey waiting for him and taking a bottle straight to an unconscious brunette girl, who was lying on the bed nearest the door.

She looked almost deathly pale, her lips barely having any colour at all, her dark hair spread around her on the white pillow.

"What happened?" Snape demanded.

"She apparently reacts to the visions she has," the matron answered, attaching a drip to the girl with a wave of her wand. "This one was a particularly nasty one, that had a poker rammed through her gut."

"Good grief..."

Madam Pomfrey's eyes lifted to him, a strange expression in them. "How much of that sanguine potion have you got?"

"Six large bottles. Why?"

"We have another patient in dire need of blood. Professor Summers is waiting with him," She nodded around the drapes, towards a curtained-off bed at the far end of the ward. Snape returned the nod, taking one of the large bottles and walking swiftly down the ward.

He pulled the curtain open.

There was a crash of the bottle slipping from his hands and smashing on the floor.

"What the HELL?"

Madam Pomfrey must have sprinted the length of the ward because she was by his side before he even finished the wild yell of shock and outrage, her own mouth dropping open.

Buffy Summers had her head tilted to one side, a bloody scalpel gripped in one hand, and blood was trickling from a cut on the left side of her neck, which was pressed against the mouth of the barely-conscious Spike.

"What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?" Snape gasped.

"Can it, Snapey," the girl sighed, stroking the vampire's hair. "He's a friend and he needs it."

Spike's lips were twitching weakly, his throat's movements suggesting that he was trying to swallow, but the quantity of deep red staining his swollen and bruised face suggested he was having difficulties.

Shifting a little, she lay the vampire back and leaned over him, the cut on her neck dribbling blood straight onto his parted lips, her hair pulled back from the wound by her right hand.

"Professor Summers!"

"I know, Madam Pomfrey, I know," a faint smile was flashed at the Matron. "You can lecture me when you give me some of that sandwichy stuff."

"Sanguine solution," Madam Pomfrey corrected faintly.

"Poppy, go and see to your patient. I will see to Professor Summers," The Matron nodded, letting the drapes slide back into place, as Snape folded his arms over his chest, gazing down at her.

"Don't even think of lecturing me, Snapey," the blonde sighed, still looking down at Spike's face as best she could. "Its not like I haven't given blood to a vampire that I care for before."

She physically jumped when one of Snape's hands caught her one that was tangled in her hair. To her utter shock, her was holding her hair back for her. Lowering her hand, she raised her eyes to him.

There was an odd expression on his face. 

"What? Do I have dirt on my nose?"

"You are feeding an unconscious vampire your own blood from an open cut on your throat inflicted by your own hand," he remarked dryly. "And you can't imagine why I would be staring at you?"

"That's not why you're staring and you know it."

The Potions Master released a sigh. "I think I understand you, Summers, then you go and do something ridiculous and idiotic like this," he replied, his fingers brushing her neck as he gathered loose tendrils of her hair back.

It didn't go unnoticed that the Slayer shivered at the contact.

"He...he's a friend, Snapey," she murmured, her eyes returning to the vampire. "I-I couldn't face losing someone...not this way...not when I had something that could save him...I couldn't ignore it...it's not like I haven't done it before..."

"The scar on your throat..." he whispered. "It was Angel?"

"The clearest, deepest one, yes. He had been poisoned. My blood was the only antidote," she said, then laughed, although it was a tremulous sound. "I hit him...kept hitting him...told him to drink... he tried to fight, but he was so weak..."

"And he drank."

"Yes," The muscles in Snape's cheeks contracted. He decided, right there, that he liked the obnoxious dark vampire even less than he had before. "And don't you pull your growly face."

"I am not."

"Snapey, I know you were and I made him drink to save him, so don't you get any ideas about hurting him," she said, her voice sounding sleepy. "And...I...I think I should stop now..." Sitting up, she fell back against Snape's chest unsteadily. "Oh, God... dizzy..."

Bending, Snape lifted her easily up in his arms, reminding her that he was actually a lot stronger than he looked in his dress-like robes, and carried her through the drapes to the next bed, laying her down on the white sheets and dark cream blankets. 

Using his wand to pull the drapes closed, he looked down at her with an expression that wouldn't have looked out of place on a very exasperated Giles. He withdrew a white handkerchief from his robes and pressed it on the wound on her throat. 

"Summers," he said, shaking his head, as he sat down on the edge of the bed. "You are going to be the death of me, one of these days."

Her shaking hand rose to his neck, where dark bruises where still visible over the edge of his high collar. "Same here," she whispered. "Sorry about Angel. I didn't know he... he's been in a bad place lately..."

"And yet," Snape replied quietly. "Something tells me he would have done exactly the same thing, had he been himself."

"You got that right," Buffy mumbled, wincing as he lifted handkerchief away from her neck, looking down at the wound that was still oozing. "So what's the diagnosis, doc? Will I live?"

"Unless I wring your neck first."

Foggy hazel eyes squinted up at him and she smiled weakly. "That mean you're not gonna kiss me better?"

"Good God, woman!" he almost laughed, unable to help himself. "You've just been feeding yourself to a vampire and you still want..."

"Hot lip service," she replied, that sleepy smile still on her lips. "Give it."

"I think no..." Her hand was in his hair and yanked his mouth down on hers before he could finish the sentence. He tried to pull away, but the Slayer growled in her throat in caution, initiating a punishing kiss. Breaking apart, panting moments later, Snape fingered the back of his neck, wincing at the bruises that he could already feel forming. "Still as strong as ever, I see..."

"Oops..." Buffy mumbled, her eyes a little glazed. "My bad..."

Her eyes closed and a squeak of a snore escaped her.

"What am I going to do with you, you absolutely nutty little tart?" he sighed to the girl, unheard, as he rose to his feet to call Madam Pomfrey. "You are impossible... utterly impossible."

***

"Hey..."

With a grimace of pain as she struggled into a sitting position, Cordelia turned to look in the direction of the owner of the very familiar voice, smiling weakly up at him. "Hey, Xander."

She was still tucked up in the bed in the medical wing, pale as the sheets that covered her. Sanguine potion was still replenishing her blood supply, but she looked a lot better than she had only an hour earlier.

"Mind if I hang here and bug you?" he asked, carefully sitting down on the edge of the bed and taking one of her cold hands between his. She shook her head, her eyes closing briefly. "Is that a yes you mind or yes I can stay?"

"Yes, you can stay and be your annoying self, dorkbrain," she whispered the old nickname with a stronger smile. Her fingers squeezed his gently and she looked down at her stomach with a wince. "Why is it that whenever I think I'm in love with you and nothing can go wrong, I end up impaled on a spike?"

"I don't know," Xander chuckled, then froze. "Um...did...what...huh?"

Brown eyes glinted at him. "Nice to see I can still scare you," she murmured, a tired grin on her lips. Xander blinked at her, mouth hanging open. Cordelia arched an eyebrow. "Is it that bad?"

"You mean when we...back then, when you and I...you loved me?"

Patches of faint pink blossomed in her cheeks. "Um..."

"You did?"

Cordelia nodded, averting her eyes awkwardly. "Yeah," she replied quietly. "You were the only one who didn't seem to notice it, though."

"I always have a talent for screwing things up, don't I?" Xander ran one of his hands through his hair, exhaling a sigh. Waiting until she lifted her eyes, he gave her a lop-sided half-smile. "Is it too late to say I'm sorry and that I was an idiot?"

"Probably," she smiled slightly. "But don't let that stop you."

"Want me to beg and crawl on my knees?"

A wicked glint that he remembered well appeared in the brunette's eyes. "I think I could deal with that," she replied, laughing aloud as he dropped off the bed and knelt, trying to look as sincere as possible, while grinning like an idiot. "Don't make me laugh, you dork!" she exclaimed, one hand going to her stomach. "It hurts!"

Immediately returning to his position on the edge of the bed, he flashed a concerned look at her stomach. "You want me to get someone?"

One hand spreading over place where the healing wound was located, she shook her head. "Nah," she replied. "I'm okay." Patting the edge of the mattress, she sighed as he sat back down. "I've missed having you around to make me smile."

"Or to bust a gut?" he offered, then ducked a swat. "HEY!"

"What? Are my slaps more manly than you're used to?"

"That's unfair!" he exclaimed, then flashed his familiar half-grin at her. "True, yeah, but unfair!"

"You still fight like a sissy-girl, huh?"

"Unashamedly," he replied, grinning. "You wanna see manly, hand-to-hand fighting, you ask for Buffy or Wills or even Dawnie. You want someone who punches like a girl, you ask for me."

Cordelia couldn't smother a chuckle. "Is that how you try and impress me, Xander Harris?" she inquired.

"Nah," he answered cheerfully. "This is how I impress you."

Leaning in, he kissed her.

One of her hands came up to rest on his shoulder, neither drawing him closer nor pushing him away, and he pulled back, staring at her apprehensively, as if expecting to receive a slap across the face for being so presumptuous.

"Hmm," Cordelia delicately licked her lower lip. "I dunno."

"Dunno what?"

"If I'm impressed," she replied, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. Her hand slid up to his face, fingers tangled through his hair, as she raised a brow in challenge. "You up to refreshing my memory?"

Xander's grin could have lit up the room and he moved closer, kissing her again.

***

Professor Trelawny was more than a little irritated.

It was several hours since that rather over-dramatic American girl had entered her class, performed her over-acted rendition of what a vision was like, then got the whole school in a furore.

They had believed what the young muggle had said, when they never believed her, the teacher of Divination! It was ridiculous!

Bustling around her tower room, she tidied up some of the tea-leaves scattered here and there. She would never let the filthy little house elves into _her_ classroom, because they upset the psychic vibrations.

Moonlight was glowing mistily through the gauzy drapes that hung over the small windows, giving the dim little room a mysterious shine, with just enough light to make it look suitably supernatural.

Trelawny sniffed. 

How dare they say she was a fraud!

She picked up one of the incense sticks, long since burned out of any scent, and dropped it into the small, round red canister beside her large chair, the one with the winged back.

Adjusting her silvery shawl around her shoulders and over the pale green dress she was wearing, she sat down in the chair. 

She would show them!

She would have a vision!

"Buzz, buzz, buzz...busy like a little bee..." a lilting voice sang from somewhere in the room, making the Divination Professor's eyes pop open behind her glasses and look around. "You can't see for the swarms in your mind..."

"Whose there?" Trelawny demanded, a little startled. 

No one was meant to be able to get into her room without her knowing.

There was a giggle. "You'll see...see in pretty colours...right...now!"

Had any of her pupils been in attendance, not a one of them would have recognised the Divination Professor.

Rigid in her chair, her eyes were wide open, her lips slack. She was shaking and the colour had washed from her face, even beneath the thick crusts of make-up. When her voice did escape, it was octaves lower than her usual one.

"The dark seer will fall and the second will come," There was another giggle from the shadows. "The old one, slayer of the untrue child. She will take the false believer by the hand and teach her to see visions of glory. Together, they will do great things... terrible... but great..."

Her head drooped forwards on her necklace-covered breast and she snorted, shaking herself, her head coming up sharply. She clearly remembered nothing of what she had just said. 

"Who was that?"

"The one who writes the songs that sing in your mind," an eerie voice whispered a moment before a waif-like figure drifted from behind the drapes that were rustling in the light wind, long dark hair swaying around an elfin face.

Trelawny came to her feet, more than a little concerned. "I'm afraid the lessons are over, dear. Perhaps tomorrow..."

"You don't remember what you saw...oh...next time, the melody will be different..."

"I beg your pardon?" There was nothing remotely misty about Trelawny's voice now, her already wrinkled brow furrowing in confusion and consternation. "What on earth are you talking about, young lady?"

"Young...like a babe...naive...like a child in the dark...scared and lost and wanting her mummy..." The mysterious young woman, whose frighteningly slim form was emphasised by the tight black gown she wore, was drifting around the room, tracing her fingertips along the drapes and over the moon-shined tabletops. "I am old as the ages, Sybill..." Her fingers brushed along her temples. "Well secluded...I see all..."

"It's just a jump to the left..." Trelawny shook herself. What the devil had possessed her to say that? Before she could consider it further, an arm wrapped around her waist from behind, the girl - who had been in front of her a second before - gone.

A cool cheek pressed against her neck. "Are you frightened, kitten?"

"H-how?" The girl had been on the other side of the room was now right behind her, gripping her tightly around the waist. There was a humming sound as if the girl was waiting for an answer. "Y-yes..." she said, quite honestly, terrified.

"You're not nearly frightened enough," the voice breathed in her ear and she as convinced she felt a tongue brush against her neck.

"That is enough!" She jerked forwards, turning to face her assailant.

The girl stood there, pouting at her. "Someone else who doesn't see..."

"Wh-what?"

The woman's head oscillated from side to side in a strange, reptilian fashion, her blue-grey eyes on Trelawny's constantly. Very unusual eyes. Like a cat's. "I seek one who sees what I can't..." she whimpered softly. "No one sees..."

"But I see!" 

Oh! 

At last! 

A kindred spirit.

A slightly insane and scary one, but a kindred spirit none-the-less...

Suddenly, that slim, frail-looking arm was around her waist again, in a vice-like grip that she had no hope of breaking, the girl's other hand catching her chin and jerking her head up. 

"Good kitten..." she purred.

Trelawny saw a flash of molten gold eyes - gold? - then released a scream of pain as fangs plunged into the flesh of her throat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN: Call me weird, but I absolutely adore Drusilla (the mad female vampire type), if you couldn't tell. I can write her so easily (I can write an insane vampire without even thinking about it - what does that say about my mentality?) and I knew I had to fit her in this story. This was the chapter where she originally popped up, then things started falling into place and she was moved back to 39 (the Glory connection) and then I discovered the real reason that she fitted in - gotta love it when a story comes together, like pieces of an immense jigsaw. 

It was actually when I was writing this chapter and the one before it that everything came together. It was a fantastic feeling, knowing just where I was going, even if I still had to write up from mid-20s by this point. :D

Now, coming in the next chapter of The Eighth Weasley: Dumbledore gets a nasty shock, the Scoobies reassemble Sunnydale-style, Lorne gets a VERY bad headache, several people want to kick ass and a whole lot of my kinda madness happens.

  
  


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	49. Death Becomes Her

The Eighth Weasley 

The Eighth Weasley - Chapter Forty-Nine Death Becomes Her

Notes: Hopefully, this chapter'll remain fairly not-long, as I barely have time to work on anything at the moment (Chapter 2 of dissertation due in a week and a half) and having a dozen series in progress = not the best of ideas. Plus, people keep plying me with more ideas for one shots and epics. Rather scary, to be honest. 

Anyone, on with the chapter.

_____________________________________________

"Where is he?"

Minerva McGonagall looked like the proverbial raging bull, strands of hair breaking free from the constraints of her bun, her robes flapping around her legs as she strode imperiously into the medical wing.

Evening had come and the small collective of Sunnydale patients were surrounded by their various guests.

At the far end of the ward, a curtain shifted slightly. "I'm here, Minnie," Spike's voice was weaker than usual and before he could fully rise from his bed to greet her, the Deputy Head Mistress was storming towards him.

"I'd say run, Spike," Buffy noted dryly from her bed, where she was still hooked up to a line of sanguine potion.

"Um..."

"Billy, you pillock! How dare you almost get yourself killed off without telling me!" The vampire's squeal of shock when she caught him around the middle and hugged him made everyone in the medical wing crack up.

"Minnie!"

Pulling back, she shook him by the shoulders. "Don't you dare do that again or I'll have to kill you myself, you irritating, obnoxious twit!" She hugged him again, then pulled away and straightened her hat and robes. "So..."

"Feeling better, Spike?" Buffy asked drowsily, giving him a half-smile, as he and McGonagall approached her bed, his arm looped around Minerva's shoulder to keep himself upright.

The vampire gave her a glare. "You know I'd bash you senseless for doing that, you dozy bint," he said, his eyes fastening onto the patch of bandage at her neck. "I'm just a vampire. I didn't do anything to earn a nibble, like Peaches."

"You're a friend," she countered, smiling wanly. Her face was still pale, but she looked like she was improving by the minute. "And Dawn woulda killed me if I'd let you die on us."

"Uh-huh!" Dawn agreed vehemently. "We need our Spikey goodness around."

"Spikey goodness?" 

Dawn grinned. "What?

"While this is all very well and good," Giles cleared his throat. He was sitting on Buffy's bed, which was surrounded by Dawn, Willow and Duncan, while Angel and Xander were sitting with Cordelia. "Spike, could you tell us what happened?"

Looking down at his bare, marked chest, Spike's hands rose and touched the healing wounds on his cheeks. They were almost entirely gone, thanks to the combination of Slayer blood and Madam Pomfrey's solutions.

"Dru was looking to do something," he finally said, a pained expression crossing his face. "Said something about having to get the picture right, so she could get everyone in the right place. I was the picture..."

"The picture...?"

Cordelia groaned. "I knew there was a reason I hated that bitch," she growled. "She knows that I'm a Seer and she knew that if she put someone from your side in enough danger here, I'd see them...and feel it."

"Sorry about that, ducks," the vampire offered, grinning a little.

"And yet again," Cordelia gave him a look that one of her vintage ones. "In a round about way, I end up bleeding from the gut because of you and that crazy bitch you called a girlfriend."

"Nice to know we're consistent, eh?"

Cordelia arched an eyebrow. "Uh... huh..."

"Yes, yes, but that raises the question about she got in here," Giles interrupted. "If you recall, we have had the protective barriers up for weeks now and nothing could get in through them."

"Unless she got in before them," Buffy murmured. "Giles, that night the demons got into the Great Hall... since that night, I've been having the same dream... something walking around the halls, waiting to be found... what if it was Dru?"

"That would kinda make a lot of sense," Willow agreed, looking up at Giles. "She could have used the craziness that happened as a distraction and hidden until she was ready to make her move. The castle's big enough to hide in."

"Except Albus would know," Anya added, pacing the middle of the ward, twisting her hands together anxiously. "Albus knows everything that goes on in the school. He has a watching bowl. He let me look at it."

Furtive, uneasy looks were exchanged.

"Oh, don't worry," she added. "I promised I wouldn't say anything about what I saw in it." She beamed around in a way which did nothing to allay their suspicions. "And anyway, he would see her."

"Not if Dru's in with Glory," Spike countered immediately. "If she's got help from a Hell Goddess, something tells me she'd be able to stay hidden if she wanted to."

"Were they looking for Dawnie?" Buffy asked.

Spike nodded. "But not because of the reason we expected," he replied, giving Dawn a reassuring look. "I think they were looking for the most obvious piece of blackmail material, especially with her being your sister and all..."

"So they're going to do it the old-fashioned way, huh?" Cordelia remarked, leaning against Xander, where he sat on the edge of her bed, his arm around her shoulders, hers around his waist. "Kidnap and blackmail... not exactly what you'd expect from a Dark Wizard and Hell Goddess."

"Yes," Giles said dryly, raising his eyes to the ceiling. "What happens to the good old-fashioned standards of charging in, wands blazing, and killing us all? I must say I find myself disappointed."

"Giles," Buffy chastised with a chuckle. "Sarcasm is nobody's friend."

The Watcher gave her an affectionate look, then turned his attention to the rest of the group. "That does beg the question, though, where is she now? We know that she doesn't have Dawn and no pupils have gone missing recently..."

"And she can bypass some of the paintings, somehow," Spike added grimly. "She was in my room, waiting for me."

"Then why didn't she just come and get me from our room?"

"I'm not sure, Niblet," the vampire replied honestly. 

Minerva raised a hand. "I believe I know the reason for that," she said. "There are additional protection charms on the Summers' painting, as the Head Master believed it better to be safe than sorry."

"And suddenly I'm feeling so very neglected," Spike groused, receiving a slap across the back of the head from the deputy Head Mistress.

"Does that mean the common rooms...?"

"They would be accessible!" Giles surged to his feet. "I'll go and warn the Head Master and make sure that the pupils are safe."

Minerva nodded. "I'll join you," she said, helping Spike to sit down in the chair that Duncan had just vacated for him. "And you, Mister T. Bloody, you better be in one piece when I come back, or I'll be rather annoyed."

"I'll try, Minnie," Spike chuckled. "You have fun with Tweedman, superhero to old-aged pensioners and protector of the teabags."

"Spike, you may be ill, but that won't stop me staking you," Giles said pointedly.

Leaning back in the seat as Minerva grabbed the watcher by the arm, the vampire licked the inside of his cheek. "You could try it, Watcher," he drawled. "And Minnie could shove her wand somewhere the sun doesn't shine."

"Hiding behind a witch, huh?" Buffy laughed at the glare on Giles' face, as he was hauled away by the Deputy Head Mistress.

Spike grinned broadly. "If it keeps my pretty white arse intact, hell yeah!"

***

"We have to ask you all to remain in the Great Hall, until we are sure the threat has been taken care of," Standing on the platform at the front of the hall, Dumbledore looked around at all the upturned faces, his hands folded in front of him.

Worried looks were exchanged amongst the pupils, the Head Boy and Girl moving to the fore of the group along with the Professors to receive instructions for themselves and the Prefects.

"Hey," Lorne eased into the group in spite of some of the wary glances from some of the Professors. "Want me to hang around in here and keep the kiddos occupied until we know the place is safe again?"

Dumbledore gave the demon a grateful smile. "It would be a great help," he replied honestly. "We need as many Professors available as possible to sweep the school and see if any trace of this vampire can be found."

"So, who else is with me, here, then?"

The Head Master's brow furrowed. "I think it may be safer if I remain here, lest she manage to access the hall," he said. "While I know the school well, I believe that this is the room that will be under the greatest threat."

"Well, isn't that just the most comforting thing you _couldn't_ have said," Lorne rolled his eyes expressively, nodding towards the Prefects, who were suddenly looking very nervous and pale.

"They have to know the circumstances that we are in," Dumbledore said softly. "I doubt that softening the truth will help in circumstances such as these."

Lorne nodded in agreement. "I guess that's kinda a smart move to make," he agreed, glancing towards the door. "Better get your boys and girls out and searching. We want those doors shut before something nasty sneaks in on us."

Drawing the rest of the teaching staff closer to him, Dumbledore gave them their instructions, then motioned for them to depart, all of them filing out silently, their wands in their hands.

The immense doors of the Great Hall were closed behind them and the pupils looked with nervous expectation to Dumbledore and Lorne, the two most brightly-coloured characters in the hall.

"Well," the Head Master said with a show of joviality that was almost convincing. "I believe it is rather early for bedtime, so I would suggest that if any of you still have homework to be done..."

Several groans sounded around the hall.

Dumbledore winked at Lorne, who couldn't help grinning at the Head Master. 

The tables were still lining the halls, so the assembled pupils split into groups, some in their houses, some with their friends, many of them in casual clothing and only the very few actually armed with their homework.

Moving to sit at the end of one of the tables, Lorne was caught by surprise when a petite brunette third year stepped in front of him, backed by a small knot of teenagers, who looked about the same age.

"Can I help you, cutie?" he inquired.

The girl looked to her friends for support, then nodded, blushing furiously. "We... um... we were wondering if you could tell us about demon things... for Defence of the Dark Arts... that is, if you're not busy..."

Over their heads, Lorne saw Dumbledore spread his hands in a gesture that clearly said 'This is nothing to do with me', the twinkle in the Head Master's bright blue eyes suggesting otherwise.

"Sure I can help you," he replied, beaming at them. It was so strange to be accepted by this large a number of humans, something which rarely happened in Los Angeles, his face too much of an obstacle for many of them.

One of the girls, who looked like she might be a bit older than the others, touched his arm. "You can sit at the Ravenclaw table," she said, nodding towards the table with a number of spaces at it. 

"Thanks, hon," Patting her hand, Lorne looked around at his group. "And you're all wanting to hear what I have to say?" There were eager nods. "Well, I do know this absolutely fantastic story about..."

As the demon trotted off with his little entourage, Dumbledore smiled indulgently, his hands folded in front of him as he paced around the pupils and tables in the halls, taking in all of the children, some playing chess, some talking, some working.

They, he knew, were the things that made his job worthwhile.

***

"Is this everything you require?"

Sitting up in her bed, Summers nodded gratefully. "Thanks, Snapey," she said, hauling the trunk that he just delivered to the in the medical wing closer. He had shrunk it to carry it from her room, expanding it as soon as it was on her bed.

Her sister and Cameron were still sitting by the bed, the boy looking utterly amazed by what he was seeing. Meanwhile, Weasley was pacing, the power crackling around her in a near-palpable cloud of energy.

On a nearby bed, the Seer was sitting with the muggle, half-observing, half-wrapped up in their conversation, holding one another's hands. The former-demon was sitting at the foot of their bed, anxiously looking at the door, as if she expected someone to enter at any moment.

Summers reached for the catch, groaning in irritation when she noticed the padlock on the trunk. "Crap... forgot about that..." she muttered, wrapping her hand around the padlock that had a link as thick as Snape's finger. 

With one swift jerk, she snapped it free.

No doubt a shoddy make, Snape decided.

"Buffy!" Weasley chastised. "I coulda summoned your keys!"

"And half of the doors, locks and chains in the castle with them, Will," Summers retorted, grinning, as she opened the hefty trunk up. "I know how reliable you are at the charmy things."

Weasley pulled a face, but stopped pacing, coming to the bed as the contents were revealed to them all.

Full to the brim with weapons, the objects in the trunk had the effect of stunning the Potions Professor into silence, the concept that a girl as tiny and dainty as the one before him had so many tools of battle absurd.

"What's the plan, Slayer?" the vampire asked, leaning against the wall by her bed.

Picking up an axe and stake, Summers tossed them to the vampire without even looking and he caught them just as easily. "I was thinking we mount up," she replied. coolly. "And kick your undead bitch's ass."

"Sounds good to me, pet," the vampire grinned. "I owe her a gesture of my affection and I'm thinking decapitation will be the best way to show that I care."

"Buffy," the darker vampire interrupted. "You don't know that she's alone."

Another stake hurtled through the air and was caught by him. "That's why we're all going in there, full force," the blonde replied grimly. "No undead ho messes with my place of work."

"Scoobies reunited," the muggle said, grinning. Rising from the Seer's bed, where he was sitting, he approached and peered into the trunk. "Ooh! My favourite!" Grabbing a mace, he hauled it out, noticing the shell-shocked look on Snape's face. "What?"

Snape looked around the group, as the deadly weapons were distributed in a way that seemed more like sweets being handed out to children. "You are all aware that this is unusual behaviour?"

A stake in her belt, a cross in one hand and an axe in the other, Weasley looked at him with an amused expression on her face. "I guess you've never seen the Scooby gang in action before, Mister."

"Scooby gang?"

"Slayerettes, if you prefer," Harris replied. "We're helpers to the almighty Slayer, which means we get to..." His eyes lit up and he beamed. Summers rolled her eyes and handed him a wrist-crossbow. "We get toys!" he exclaimed.

"You trust these... people with such weaponry?" Severus couldn't help noticing the familiarity with which they gathered their arms, stakes and crosses handed out to everyone, along with the blades and bows.

Summers flashed an impish grin up at him. "Snapey, this is what we do. This is what we've been doing since we were sixteen-years-old," She looked proudly around at the group. "This is the first time we've been altogether in nearby two years..."

"Not all!" Weasley protested. "Oz! Oz is part of the altogetherness and he isn't here, so we're not all!"

"Okay, almost all," Summers corrected herself and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "Snapey, when we were at school, we stopped the world from ending at least a dozen times. I couldn't have done it without these guys."

"That's really nice to hear, but..." The dark-haired Seer's words trailed of as she touched a hand to her forehead. "Oh..."

"Are you sure you..."

Summers pushed herself onto her feet, crossbow slung on her back, stakes in her belt and a cross at her throat. "We know how to fight as a group," she said. "And we'll do what we have to, to get rid of Dru and make this school safe again. We've done it before and we can do it again."

"Not to interrupt the big speech, but...you...uh-oh..." The Seer's body jerked back, almost hard enough to give her whiplash, her spine arching up off the bed, as Harris dived in a grabbed her, before the dark vampire could. 

"What the hell...?"

Summers moved forward. "Vision," she replied tersely, suddenly making the Potions Professor feel a lurch of sympathy for anyone who was cursed with being a true Seer, as opposed to the over-acting Professor Trelawny.

The dark-haired girl on the bed had a hand pressed to her forehead and her eyes squeezed tightly shut. Words broke from her lips in staccato bursts. "She's here..." great hall... the kids... and another one..."

"Vampire?" the dark one demanded sharply.

"Yeah... just one... and ick on the clothes..." Gasping, her body went rigid, then she slumped back against the pillows, her eyes widening. Panting for breath, she stared wildly up at them, giving Harris a push. "She's there now! Go! Run!"

"Albus! Albus is there!" the former demon gasped, grabbing Summers' arm. "You have to save him!"

The look on Summers' face was one of cold determination as she stalked towards the end of the ward. "Don't worry, An," she said coolly, her friends falling into orderly ranks behind her. "I intend to. Snapey!"

"Summers?"

"Stay here," she called back, flashing a look at him. "If anything gets through here, you keep Dawnie safe."

"I'm not a babysitter," he snapped.

Before she disappeared from view, she turned and flashed that irritating grin at him again, then vanished from sight, leaving him alone in the medical wing with her sister, Cameron and the Seer.

The Seer struggled into a sitting position, pushing her long hair back from her face and smirking at him. "Slayer-whipped much?" 

Snape growled, slowly and deliberately folding his arms and glaring at her.

It only made the Seer grin more widely up at him, Summers Junior snickering behind a hand, while Cameron tried to pretend he wasn't present, muffled sniggers escaping from him. 

Having met the group, he was becoming increasingly grateful that he had never been made to teach any of them, none of whom seemed to realise that they were meant to fear and respect him.

Bloody Americans.

***

Surrounded by a contingent of teenagers from all the houses, Lorne's ability to read a person's future aura when they sang had been brought to light and the students were taking it in turn to regale him with their voices.

His group had expanded rapidly, once people had started singing.

Even those, who had decided to try and sleep, when it had grown late, were half-listening to what was going on.

The tables had been piled away against the walls, leaving Lorne sitting on a sleeping bag with dozens of the wide-awake students around him, some sitting, some lying, all of them intently focused on him.

The only light came from above, from the candles bobbing peacefully between them and the ceiling. All in all, it was a peaceful, comfortable scene and the American demon was loving every minute.

Curiosity piqued, other students had filtered over to see what was going on and had been drawn into the increasingly large circle around the green-skinned demon, who was both entertaining them and teaching them at the same time.

"How does it work?" one of the Ravenclaws inquired.

"The reading thing?" She nodded. "Who knows, sweets? All I know is that I get a look in on what's coming up... kinda glad it doesn't work when I sing, cos hello! I would know everything about my life and then some!"

"You like singing, then?"

"Like it?" Lorne clapped a hand to his chest, a blissful look crossing his face. "Kid, you don't know magic until you've heard music."

"I know a song," a reedy female voice said, soft, but carried by the acoustics of the Great Hall. Lorne stiffened, looking towards Dumbledore, whose face had suddenly got pale. "Do you want to hear it?"

Rising from his place at the table, Lorne motioned for the students to remain seated.

"Run and catch," the voice started to sing softly. "Run and catch..."

Clutching at his temples, Lorne squeezed his eyes shut in pain, as the visions started crashing in on him, his head spinning. "Stop..." he moaned, staggering, stumbling down onto one knee. "For the love of..."

At the dais where the High Table stood, a slim sylph-like figure drifted out of the shadows, licking the index finger of her right hand. "But you said that music is special and now, when it rings in your head..."

"Halt!" The fire in Dumbledore's voice surprised even the demon, the old wizard's wand raised and directed at the vampire.

Drusilla's blue-grey eyes found the Head Master, her lips curving in a lazy smile. "I know you won't spank me," she purred. "Not when I am keeping your pet with the magic eyes in my hold."

"Pet?"

The vampiress, her face in it's human planes, beckoned to someone in the shadows, a shaking figure staggering forward. Drusilla grabbed the woman's arm, as several of the pupils gasped in shock.

"Sybill!" Dumbledore's furious expression was tainted with shock.

The Divination Professor's face was white, her notoriously bad make-up smudged beyond recognition. Staring around wildly, she seemed unsure of her surroundings, a panicked look on her face.

The vampire pulled Trelawny's body in front of her, the Professor's gaudy dress and shawl stained with crimson.

"I had a little nibble," Drusilla cooed, running her fingers down Trelawny's neck, her eyes never leaving Dumbledore's face. "I was hungry and the stars wished that I would eat her all up, but I said no! No to the naughty stars. I must wait until I find the sister of the shining one."

"You will not find her here," Dumbledore stepped forward, his eyes flashing.

The vampire made a whining sound low in her throat. "But there are so many other naughty little boys and girls," she murmured, still stroking Trelawny's neck, dark hair matted with blood and clinging to the skin. "I could eat them all up..."

Lorne, still clutching his head, scrambled back onto his feet and started motioning the students towards the doors of the Great Hall, while the Head Master advanced on the vampire and her hostage.

"All locked in, like mice in a cage," Drusilla giggled, her head swaying from side to side, as Lorne tried to force the door open. "Nowhere to run... no where to hide..." A chorus of terrified screams rang out when her vampiric features came forth. "Oh, it's like singin' in my 'ead..."

"Head Master..."

Whirling, Dumbledore fired a spell at the doors, but they remained tightly closed and the pupils starting massing towards them, the scent of fear and confusion filling the Great Hall.

"Nowhere to run... nowhere to hide... the eyes are all-seeing..." Trelawny moaned, Drusilla still gripping her throat, her voice lower than any of them remembered it being. "Blood washes the floors... the walls are licked with scarlet..."

"My pet sees such pretty pictures," the vampire grinned, showing all her fangs. Her golden eyes flashed with mirth, her oddly-reptilian features highlighted eerily by the torches on the wall. "She sees the magic that I can't, so pretty, singing and shrieking in her head..." 

Suddenly, she froze...

"My bad daddy...?" she whispered, uncurling one hand towards the ceiling. "Is he coming here to me...?"

Lorne's red eyes darted towards the door, then the pupils blocking it. "Out of the way, everyone!" he cried, motioning the pupils into the corners of the room as a blow was struck on the opposite side of the door.

Drusilla's hands ran down her body, a moan escaping her. "Come and spank me all better, daddy..."

A crash sounded and the doors of the Hall exploded inwards, showering the students with splinters, revealing the tiny, blonde Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, smiling broadly. "Hi! Mind if I gatecrash the party?"

Drusilla's lips curved in a grin. "Slayer... the one with sunshine in her hair..." Her eyes went passed Buffy to the tallest figure behind her. "And my bad daddy... playing with the little ones again... tuttut... grandmum will not be pleased..."

"Like she'd care," Angel growled, a stake gripped in his right hand. "You shouldn't have come here, Dru."

Drusilla mewed in her throat. "My bad daddy will come back," she cooed. "I was dreaming it, daddy...and then, you'll chain us all up and play such naughty games... and spank us all...naughty, bad daddy..."

"Uh-huh... nice to see you haven't upped that sanity quota yet," Buffy Summers said cheerfully, stepping into the hall, a group spreading around her, every one of them armed to the teeth. "So... do we fight yet?"

Clapping her hands, Drusilla called out," Come out and play my pets!"

From the shadowy end of the Great Hall, through the side doors and from behind Drusilla, a pack of demons swept out, the Slayer's eyes widening.

Every single one of them was at least seven-foot tall with scaly grey-white skin and deeply-sunken red eyes. Fang-filled mouths and claws were bared, spikes running from their foreheads and down their spines.

"Lorne! Get the kids out!" she called, running forward, whipping the crossbow off her back and firing a bolt before she even finished speaking, one of at least two dozen demons smashing to the floor, shot through the eye.

"Scoobies spread out! Take 'em down!" Xander yelled, charging into the fray, mace in one hand, axe in the other. "Get the kids out safely!"

The green-skinned demon started rushing the hoards of panicking children out as the Scooby gang ploughed into the demons, Willow lashing out with an axe and catching one of the demon's in the chest, casting whispered charms to direct her aim.

Drusilla threw Trelawny to one side, the Divination Professor colliding with the wall and collapsing. The vampire leapt from the dais, gliding towards Buffy, who hefted her sword and stake, striding determinedly towards the dark-haired vampiress.

Angel, meanwhile, tackled one of the larger demons, Anya - howling blue murder and a string of obscenities in a dozen languages - hitting anything vaguely non-human that crossed her path with a curved knife.

The pupils were being ushered out by Lorne, Giles and McGonagall barrelling into the battle as soon as they reached the hall, the number of demons not seeming to fall in spite of the strikes being landed on them.

"You stole my Spike from me," Drusilla growled, as Buffy approached her, a demon between them taken down by a blast from the Head Master's wand. "Filthy slayer, stealing my Angel and my Spike..."

Lunging in with a volley of blows, which Drusilla blocked in rapid succession, the Slayer laughed mockingly. "Proves how good you are at keeping a guy, doesn't it, psycho-girl?"

Drusilla hissed, striking Buffy in the centre of the chest, knocking the Slayer back, into a backflip. Whirling, the small blonde swung out her right leg in a roundhouse kick that would have taken a human's head off.

The savage kick caught Drusilla across the head, the vampire whipping around from the impact, striking out at the back of Buffy's other leg with razor-sharp claws, the Slayer stumbling.

Unfortunately, Buffy was still weak from loss of blood and she didn't quite have the edge over the powerful vampire that she would usually have.

One of Drusilla's hands locked around her throat and she choked, her eyes widening as she felt the nails biting into her skin. 

A flash of a pale arm dashed down in front of her eyes, connecting with Drusilla's arm and breaking her grip. Something hit the dark-haired vampiress and she crashed down onto the floor.

"Hello, luv," Spike grinned nastily down at his sire, who was staring at him with an expression of confusion and horror. "Miss me?"

"My Spike?" she whispered.

"Gotta say I don't appreciate being left for dead, sweets," he drawled, hurling his knife, his Sire too surprised by his appearance to avoid it, the blade lodging deep in her stomach, cool blood gushing out over her hands. "All right, Slayer?"

Buffy nodded, rubbing her bruised throat. "Yeah... I'll be fine..." Regaining her breath, she snatched an axe from the back of one of the fallen demons. "Giles! These things won't die! What do we do?"

"Decapitation!" Giles bellowed back.

"Spike?"

The blond vampire smirked. "I'll be fine, ducks," he said, his eyes on his sire at his feet. "You go and kill things." 

Scrambling backwards, away from him, Drusilla stumbled to her feet, yanking the blade out her body and staring at him. "You were to be dust, my wicked boy," she gasped, shaking her head.

"Well, yeah," he grinned at her, circling her slowly. "But you didn't count on me having a mate like the Slayer."

Drusilla hissed, then froze, staring beyond them at the door. "The key..." she gasped, pushing Spike aside with more strength than she appeared to have. "It calls..."

Startled, Buffy spun to see Dawn and Snape race into the Hall. "Buffy!" Dawn shrieked. "Cordelia! Another vision! Demons!" Then, the teen appeared to notice the ongoing battle. "Oh... you know... right..."

"Get her out of her, Snapey!" Buffy howled, running towards the demons that were charging in the direction of her sister. One of them received an axe solidly to the back of it's head, crashing down less a foot from the girl, who yelled and kicked out at it.

Snape grabbed the teenager around the waist, hauling her back out of the hall, his wand blasting several of the demons backwards as they backed out into the open Hall, the head Master moving to block the demons from exiting the Great Hall.

"The key!" Drusilla growled, smashing Buffy to one side and charging at Dawn, a punch across her face sending her reeling. Standing over his sire, Spike glared down at her. "My Spike!"

"You left me for dead, you miserable bitch," he growled, his own features flaring into vampiric ridges. With a vicious back-hand, he sent her scudding across the floor, tackling her, the two vampires grappling, clawing and biting one another.

"Get her to safety!" Buffy yelled to Snape, rapidly fitting another bolt into her crossbow and catching a beaten demon through the back of the skull. It fell, bloody goo spilling from a hole in it's forehead. 

Running forward, Buffy slammed the axe down on the demon's neck, but the neck was at least two feet in circumference. "Oh... crap..." she groaned, hacking wildly at the neck, until it parted from the body. "Giles! Make my axe bigger!"

"And you girls say that size doesn't matter," Xander jibed, as Buffy's axe expanded in her hands.

"Funny, Xander," Buffy retorted, joining her dark-haired friend. "Okay..." Xander launched a bolt from his wrist bow, which hit one of the demon's harmlessly in the chest, but made it look down.

In that split-second of distraction, Buffy swung her new and improved axe, taking its head off completely.

"Heads up!" Buffy gave Xander a disbelieving look. "What?" he demanded in an injured tone. "It was funny!"

"Guys!" Willow yelled. "Um... HELP?"

Buffy sped to her friend's side, tackling the demon away from Willow, the head of the axe plunging into the demon's chest as she crashed down on top of it. Leaping onto her feet, she yanked the axe free and swung it down, cleaving the demon's skull in half. 

"Oops!" She winced. "Neck..."

"Again we see why Buff would be a bad vampire," Xander laughed, catching one of the demon's over the back of the head and smashing it to the ground.

"You want me to use the axe on you, Xan?" Buffy demanded.

Xander turned to respond, yelling in fright as Buffy dived towards him. She hit him in the belly, knocking him to the floor and out of the path of the claws of one of the demons, landing on top of him.

"Enough talk," she panted. "Time to fight."

"Agreed," Xander nodded.

"Buffy!" Angel tackled a demon away from them, pinning it down. "Axe!"

Spinning, Buffy hurled her axe to him and there was the squishing sound, like a piece of metal hitting an overripe pumpkin with force enough to burst it. A demon's head bounced away across the floor.

"Thanks," Angel panted.

"No problem," Buffy replied.

The trio were on their feet in a heartbeat, back into the fight, Xander providing the core distraction, Angel providing the muscle to hold them, while Buffy plied her axe to the demons' necks like a professional lumberjack would a tree trunk.

Willow and Giles were working together, using the combination of freezing spells and axe work to take some down, the Head Master and Anya making sure that the demons didn't escape the hall, while McGonagall and Spike had teamed up again.

"The floor's rather dusty," Minerva noted, ducking under an axe swipe.

"Sire had a run in with a stake," Spike answered matter-of-factly. 

"Thought as much," Minerva glanced at him. "You all right?"

Gold eyes darted to her face. "Can we talk about it after?" he asked. 

"That bad?"

Spike said nothing, tackling a demon and landing his axe on it's throat.

It seemed like an eternity before the demons were defeated, blood, ichor and slime splattered all over the floor and walls. Bodies lay in pieces all over the floor, the little group standing in shaky pairs around the hall.

"Well..." Xander panted. "Never imagined a Scooby reunion being so much fun..." 

"Tell me that's a good enough excuse for me to kill him," Angel muttered darkly., peeling sticky wads of slim off his face and neck.

Dumbledore, though, seemed oblivious to the chaos, hurrying across the hall to the place where Professor Trelawny had fallen, her body limply sprawled on the floor, against the wall. 

Kneeling, he gently touched her throat. "Sybill?" he asked softly, his face going pale at the lack of a pulse. "Oh no..."

"Is she...?"

Cradling Trelawny's body reverently, her head lolling back, Dumbledore looked up at Minerva sadly. "She's dead," he said. 

Buffy limped over, pushing her hair back from her face with a dripping hand, her face bloody and streaked with slime. "I-I'm sorry, Head Master," she whispered. "If we had known that she was in danger..."

"It wasn't your fault that this happened, Professor Summers," Dumbledore replied, giving her a reassuring look. "Perhaps you had best go and see that your sister is all right... and your seer friend. I... I would like a moment."

"Cordy!" Xander dropped the axe he was still holding and sprinted from the room, skidding several times on slimy patches.

"I'll just go... with him..." Buffy added, her head bowed in sympathy, as she slipped out with Giles, Angel following. McGonagall and Spike withdrew equally quietly, leaving the Head Master to mourn briefly on his own.

Willow was met at the doors by Hermione, who had just come racing back through the halls from searching the castle, the red-haired witch practically collapsing in her lover's arms, allowing Hermione to lead her away.

The Great Hall was silent, the Head Master kneeling where Sybill Trelawny had fallen. He held her slight body in one arm, closing his eyes and bowing his head, allowing himself a moment of quiet memory.

While never the brightest and best of the Professors, she had been a decent woman and he knew that he would miss having her interesting variation of conversation at the staff meetings.

"I am sorry you came to this end, Sybill," he said softly. "You deserved so much better than this."

"Oh, don't be too upset about my demise, Albus," a voice said cheerfully from his arms. Opening his eyes, Dumblecore started in shock as Sybill Trelawny lifted her face and grinned at him. Her features shifted, sharp fangs emerging, golden eyes fixed on him hypnotically. "You'll sour your blood."

Dumbledore's hand went for his wand but - due to shock delaying a reaction - the vampire formerly known as Hogwarts Divination Professor was faster, slapping it aside and grabbing a handful of his hair to jerk his head to one side.

"Vintage wizard," she purred. "Delicious and powerful..."

"Hey!" a voice yelled. Trelawny looked up and an axe cleaved straight through her neck, her head bouncing once on the floor before exploding in a cloud of dust. Anya slapped the handle of axe against her palm. "No one bites Albus' neck, except me!"

Blinking, looking from the dust that had been about to bite him moments earlier, to Anya, Dumbledore exhaled a breath. The ex-demon tossed the axe to one side and knelt, flinging her arms around him so tightly he uttered a gasp.

"I thought you were going to die!" she exclaimed. "I didn't want you to die! I don't like it when people die, because it's depressing and people cry and fight and I didn't want to cry..."

Patting her back gently, the Head Master returned the embrace gently. "Thank you, Anya," he said. "I have never been more relieved to see you. You knew?" He looked down at the dust pile again. "I never suspected..."

"Duh," Anya sighed, pulling back a little and giving him a patient look. "You're not very experienced, Albus." He raised his brows. "You haven't lived on a Hellmouth. You don't know that you're not meant to trust anybody, even if they're dead."

"She... Sybill..."

"Was a vampire and she was going to kill you. I hit her with an axe and now she's dust," Anya elaborated, pointing at the pile. "See?"

Massaging his forehead with his fingertips, he could feel an impending headache, on top of the shock, grief and confusion. "I think," he said slowly. "That we had best go to my office. I need to sit down..."

"And chocolate?" 

"Yes... that would probably be a good thing as well."

Helped to his feet by the former demon, he smiled wanly as she took his arm and lead him out of the Hall, trusting that the house elves would clean it all up, including the rather numerous corpses littered everywhere.

***

"I killed her."

Sitting on the couch in Minerva's private chambers, Spike was staring blankly into a mug of rapidly-cooling blood. His hands were wrapped around the mug and he seemed oblivious to his surroundings.

Using her wand to send a ball of flame into the crate, casting a warming, gold-red glow over the room, Minerva returned to the deep green velvet-covered couch, where he was sitting.

"She left you for dead yesterday, Billy," she said, raising a hand and stroking his hair. "You had every reason to be willing to kill her and she would have killed you, if you hadn't."

Tear-filled blue eyes rose to her. "But she was my Sire, Minnie... my bloody Sire..."

"I know," Minerva acknowledged quietly.

Looking back down at his mug of blood, the vampire sniffed, swallowing hard. "I-I loved her, y'know... no one ever believes that a soulless vampire could love anything, but me and her... what we had was special. I would have done anything for her."

"Even when she would have killed you?"

Spike nodded sadly. "That used to be how it was," he said, stirring the blood with the tip of his finger. "I would have let her decapitate me, if it made her happy... I dunno where we went wrong...no... I do... the first time I helped Buffy... that's where it all went downhill..."

"You could have turned on Buffy, you know."

"No, I couldn't," Spike replied, looking up at her again. "You've seen what the Slayer and her sis are like. Her mum's the same way. Mum and Nibbles treated me like a normal person and..." He laughed a little. "It's funny, but I actually wanted to be treated like that. I liked just chatting with people, not killing all the time, even though it was fun. Angelus, Angel, what have you, he was all for ending the world when he was about. I didn't want that. I liked doing things with mortals, like just talking or having hot chocolate..."

"So you stayed with Buffy?"

Spike grinned weakly. "Not by choice at first. I hated them all because they saw me as nothing more than a demon to be chained up and kept captive, but they started growing on me..."

"And now?"

"Now," he sighed. "I'd rather die to protect the Niblet, the Slayer and everyone than let anything happen to them."

Shifting on the couch, to lean back against the arm, Minerva gazed at him. "I knew you were an unusual vampire, Billy," she murmured. "But I never realised just what a rare one you are. You actually care..."

"Yeah..." He stared down into his blood. "I care enough to do in the one who made me... no vampire is ever meant to do that... not unless the Sire has done something unethical in vampire eyes... and, well, you can imagine that not much is counted as unethical by vampires."

"I'd say torturing you to the point of death and leaving you to drain of blood for eight hour would classify as a good enough reason."

"We used to do that kind of thing for fun," he muttered. "Without so much blood loss, though..."

"Ah..."

The mug slipped from his grip and shattered on the stone floor, his shaking hands rising to cover his face as he started to sob. "I killed my Sire... I-I-I killed her... I still loved her and I-I-I killed her..."

"Billy," Minerva sat up, wrapping her arms around the vampire and cradling his head against her shoulder. Spike wriggled closer, clinging to her, as he wept, one of her hands smoothing his hair as she murmured reassuringly.

Gradually his sobs quieted and he fell silent.

Minerva tilted her head to one side to look down at him and his head where it was resting on her chest. The vampire was fast asleep, tears drying on his pale cheeks, his arms around her waist.

"Oh, marvellous," she murmured, leaning back against the arm of the couch. Spike mumbled in protest, nestling closer. Minerva sighed and started to smooth his hair again, her own eyes heavy with exhaustion.

A soft, thrumming growl sound vibrated from Spike's body, almost like the sound of a satisfied lion at rest and Minerva had to smile, when she realised that not only was Spike entirely comfortable where he was.

He was also purring.

"Sleep well, Billy," she said softly, her hand resting lightly against his neck as she gave into the need to sleep with the vampire formerly known as William the Bloody using her as a pillow.

***

"I can't believe she died."

Giles was sitting on the window ledge in the medical wing beside Buffy, moonlight washing in on them, and gave her a look. "You should know by now that you can't be expected to save everyone, Buffy," he said.

On the other side of the ward, Cordelia was fast asleep, curled against Xander's chest, the dark-haired youth half-asleep as well. Dawn was curled in a sleeping ball on one of the other beds, having been delivered back there by Snape.

After the debacle in the Great Hall, he had made sure that all of the America group were al right, provided some energy supplementation potions and given the Slayer a look, before sweeping away. 

On last sighting, Willow and Hermione were sharing a post-battle smooch session against one of the walls outside the Great Hall, both liberally smeared in slime and goo, which would inevitably lead them to the bathrooms.

The only people left awake, it seemed, were Giles, Buffy and Angel.

"Yeah, but still... great start to the new year... three weeks into the term and we have death and destruction already..."

"You saved all the kids, Buffy," Angel added. He was pacing the centre aisle of the wing, his hands interlocking and unfolding rhythmically. "It's amazing that there was only one death."

"Almost two," Anya's voice said from the door. 

"Huh?"

The sandy-haired girl entered the wing, carrying one of Buffy's smaller battle axes, a grim look on her face. "You said you were going to save Albus and the vampire almost ate him! That doesn't classify as saving him."

"Vampire? But Spike killed Dru..."

"No," Anya gave her an impatient look. "That weird teacher who died. She was a vampire. She was going to eat Albus, so I cut her head off. Albus was emotionally affected. I made him eat chocolate and he's resting now."

"Trelawny..."

"Was a vampire," Anya repeated. "With teeth and the grr and fangs and everything. I thought you were the Slayer and there I was, slaying! I had to cut off her head and I got a splinter in my hand!"

"You slayed a vampire?" Buffy stared at the former demon.

"What? Like I couldn't? She was going to eat Albus! I like Albus and I couldn't let her do that!"

"I-I didn't think to check," Giles said, shaking his head. "We knew she had been bitten, but assumed that she..."

"Was still a human," Anya interrupted. "Yeah, so did Albus and he almost got eaten! Did I mention that he almost got eaten? I wasn't pleased and he was shocked about it as well!"

"Is he all right?" Buffy asked.

"He'll be fine," Anya replied. "But he wanted me to ask you if Drusilla works with other demons a lot?"

Giles frowned, removing his glasses and pointlessly polishing them on the gunk-covered lump of fabric that was his tie. "Not-not on a day to day basis, no. I would say that she gathered those ones..."

"Mercenaries," Angel said quietly. 

The Watcher's brow furrowed pensively. "I'm not t-to sure about that," he said. "I noticed that she was in charge of them... she was looking for your sister and they were with her... perhaps they were all in the employment of..."

"Glory!" A look of horror crossed Buffy's face. "It makes sense!"

"It... does?" Giles looked somewhat flummoxed.

Buffy nodded, pushing herself off the window ledge and pacing across the stone floor, her expression fraught with concern. "I had that dream, way back, and there were two sides lining up against each other... there were a helluva lot of people on her side of the line, Giles..."

"And you now know what it means?"

The Slayer nodded grimly. "I know."

"Then what...?"

Turning to look at them, Buffy's voice was strangely calm, but was belied by the fear in her eyes. "Glory's gathering an army," she replied. "She's preparing for war."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Notes: Gyah! This *was* meant to be a short chapter. It was when I hit six pages and realised that I hadn't even got close to the main section that I realised it wasn't going to be short. Meh. 17 pages isn't *that* long, is it? And now, it's done, and posted and I'll be working on my dissertation. I will. No, really, I mean it!

Anyway, also, coming fairly soon, but not for at least a week, in The Eighth Weasley - Lorne finds he has a new calling, Angel and Buffy make arrangements, Glory isn't amused and much more!


	50. Personal Demons

PERSONAL DEMONS

Notes: Okay, I had an idea for this chapter. Then I remembered that I covered most of it in the last chapter, which was highly stupid of me, so - I know I said this in the last ch. as well, but in this case it should be true - this should be a fairly short chapter. I hope. Really. I want to work more on The Last Potter.

_________________________________

"You're sure this is going to work?"

Standing in the middle of the medical wing, Buffy nodded, looking up at her former lover. "If the Head Master said it would work, it's going to work," she replied. "And it's a lot quicker than flying or going by ship."

It was the morning after the demon fiasco in the Great Hall and, after a long night spent in careful deliberations and planning with Buffy and Giles, Angel was departing for America immediately.

If they were to gather all the help they would require to help Buffy in the battle against Glory, they knew they had to leave as soon as possible, so they could join forces with several of Angel's allies in and around Los Angeles.

Angel dubiously looked at the necklace lying in his hand. "But..."

"Magic, Angel," the Slayer reminded him. "Makes anything possible."

The vampire nodded, replacing the narrow, silver chain with an ornate cross on it in the box and tucking it into his pocket. "I'll make sure it doesn't end up in the wrong hands," he said. "You'll be all right until we can reassemble?"

"I'll be fine," Buffy answered, her arms folded over her chest. She glanced past him to the bed where Cordelia and Xander were still asleep, the Seer's head resting snugly on Xander's shoulder. "We'll take care of her for you."

"You won't," the vampire observed, turning to look at the dark-haired girl. "But I'm pretty sure that Xander will."

Shaking her head, Buffy smiled slightly. "I never thought I'd see the day when those two got back together again," she remarked, stepping alongside Angel. "Especially in circumstances like these."

"I don't like the kid," Angel admitted. "But if it makes Cordy happy...she's had a hard time, the last couple of years. It's a good thing that she's finally getting a break from all the bad."

"A poker through her gut and you say there's no bad here?"

"Better than being impregnated by a giant demon," the vampire said dryly.

Buffy's face twisted in a nauseous expression. "Well... yeah..." she agreed. "And, for the record, ew."

Angel laughed softly. "You know," he said. "I think it's really helped both of us, coming here. Not just because we killed some demons, although that was an added bonus, but just to get away from L.A. for a few days..."

"It is kinda nice to see you as well."

"In spite of everything?"

Buffy turned to look up at him. "Angel, in spite of everything, you know I'll always be happy to see you. You're the first guy I loved and I do still love you. I'm just not in love with you anymore."

"Or with that brain dead commando," he noted with a touch of glee.

"You leave Riley out of this!" Buffy couldn't help laughing. "Just because he almost beat you up..." Angel gave her a look. "Okay, just because he picked a fight with you and you kicked his ass doesn't mean you can insult him."

"He wasn't right for you, Buffy. Even thought he knew about the Slayer lifestyle and fought demons... he was just too much of a regular kid."

"I know."

Both of them sighed, looking towards Cordelia and Xander again. 

"Think they'll make it this time?"

Buffy nodded. "I'd bet on it," she replied quietly, pushing the sleeves of her robes up her arms. "Seeing them like that... it does kinda make you think it would be nice just to have someone to... I dunno... be with."

"From what I hear, you've got a few guys lining up to do that with you," Angel remarked. Buffy looked up at him in surprise. "I listen, remember," he said by way of explanation. "And lurk."

"I don't know why," she replied, raising a hand to tuck loose strands of hair behind her ear. "I've been uber-cranky lately and I'm always working and hey! Slayer - not exactly good for a normal life, even with a wizard-guy."

"You're you," Angel answered for her. "And you look as good as you ever did."

Punching him on the arm, Buffy went a deep shade of red. "Stop that!"

"I'm not joking," he said sincerely, then winced and rubbed his arm. "And did you have to hit me quite so hard?" Buffy smirked. "You know, you actually look right in this place, as well."

"So I suit living in a castle?" She grinned. "Told you I should have been a Princess."

"Or a witch," He blocked another slap on the arm, nodding down at her. After the battle, she had run back to her room to change out of bloody robes and was wearing her midnight blue, silver-lined ones. "That look suits you."

Looking down at the robes, she fingered the silver buttons. "I like these ones," she admitted. "I got 'em from Giles after a potion went wrong... I think. I just woke up and they were there."

Angel looked her up and down. "They look good on you," he said. "Some day, some guy will see just how beautiful you are and..."

"Lemme guess," Buffy interrupted, blushing. "We'll live happily ever after."

"You never know," Angel replied, reaching down and taking one of her small hands in his. Squeezing her fingertips, he smiled slightly. "That's the one thing I would wish for you. Happiness."

"Let's just get me past this summer with my friends and family intact and we'll aim for big happies next." 

"One step at a time," he agreed.

***

"Oh, this is just perfect."

Lucius spread his hands elegantly. "I wish I had better news for you, my dear," he said, approaching the pacing Hell Goddess, who glowered at him, her arms folded over her chest. 

As usual, they were in his study, the morning light washing in through the tall panels of glass that lined the wall.

Word had just arrived, from one of the demons that had survived the massacre at the school, that their vampiress had been dusted and the Slayer had saved her sister, as well as wiping out a vast contingent of their brute squad.

"Wishing doesn't bring me the Slayer's brat sister or the key, Luce," Glory growled, her eyes flashing dangerously.

Grey eyes met hers coolly and she had to admire his spunk as he faced her down. "I sincerely doubt that losing your temper will achieve either of those ends, Glory," he said, his voice crisp with ice. "Stop behaving like a petulant brat."

"What did you call me?"

He raised his chin in defiant silence.

One of Glory's hands locked around his throat, yanking him close. Staring him in the eyes, she grinned cruelly at him. "You gonna tell me what you called me, Luce?" she asked. "Or do I gotta choke it out of you."

"You think this will help?" He gagged as she gripped tighter.

"Sure as hell'll make me feel better," she retorted darkly. "I wonder if I squeeze hard enough, will your head just pop right off?"

"Do it," he wheezed. "And I won't be able to tell you what I found."

Blue-green eyes narrowed. "You're bluffing."

He smirked. "Perhaps."

Tightening her grip, she could see colour spreading in his cheeks, trapped blood darkening his usually-pale skin, his hands gripping at her wrist. "You gonna share the news, Luce?"

"That depends," he croaked.

"Oh yeah?"

"I doubt I'll be able to... if you throttle me."

Glory's expression hardened irritably and she threw him back, away from her. The wizard smacked against the side of the desk, his legs buckling under him, his vision blurring slightly.

"Spill it, Goldielocks," she snapped.

Stabilising himself against the side of his desk, Lucius straightened up, shaking hair back from his flushed face. One hand rose to massage his throat, which was darkening with bruises. "We don't know all the details," he rasped.

"Details?"

"The one that escaped," He gave her a pointed look. "He had to escape through some opening in their defences." Glory seemed to catch up. "He also may provide some information about the Key..."

"My key..."

"If your vampire saw it..."

Glory's face creased into a rapturous smile. "If she saw my key, she'll know what it is and where to find it!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands. Rushing towards Lucius, she caught his face between her palms and pressed a fierce kiss to his lips. "You are _so_ smart!"

Still breathless, Lucius allowed one side of his mouth to rise. "I do try," he replied.

***

"You're sure about this?"

"Positive."

Lorne stared at Dumbledore in amazement. "But I... I'm a demon," he stated bluntly, spreading his hands. "I dunno if your pupils' parents are gonna be too pleased to find out that you got a demon on staff. Especially one as obvious as me, cos hello! Horns and green skin - dead giveaway."

Picking up a crystal bowl off his desk, Dumbledore leaned forward and offered it to Lorne. "Peppermint?" Taking one, the demon looked confused. "I know it is rather short notice, Lorne, but we are in need of a divination teacher and the children appear to like you."

"But I..."

Dumbledore raised a hand. "My dear fellow, at this school, I have employed a rather charming werewolf, we have a vampire who is a personal friend of the deputy Head Mistress and a Vampire Slayer as a Defence Against Dark Arts Professor."

"And having a demon as a Divination teacher would just complete your matching set of weirdness, huh?"

The Head Master chuckled. "Your ethnic origins make no nevermind to me. All I am concerned with is that you will prove a good teacher in Divining and," His voice saddened. "As our previous Divination teacher was hardly an expert in the subject, despite her credentials, I do believe you may actually teach them something. Also, you are already present and accounted for. I would rather not risk bringing in anyone new and unknown in, lest Glory has reached them first."

"You... you honestly think I'd be up to the job?"

"I would not ask, if it were any other way, although," He leaned forward slightly. "I do have one additional duty that you would have to perform, which I would hope would be less of a chore...perhaps even an act of love..."

Lorne tilted his head suspiciously. "What would that be?"

"I have often longed," Dumbledore said, leaning back in his seat and interlocking his hands, a pensive look on his face. "To teach the children to appreciate the wonder of music and you... you seem to understand the fundamental power of it."

"Absolutely!" Lorne agreed. "Nothing in this world can compare to... hey..." A green finger pointed at Dumbledore, a broad smile lighting up his face. "I _know_ you're not asking me to be a kinda music teacher for your crazy kids..."

"Of course not!" the Head Master retorted. "Would never dream of such a thing."

"I do have to think about Caritas, though..." Lorne frowned gravely. "After all, it's my baby and I wouldn't give it up for anything, y'know. Old-fashioned guy, I am, loyal to my roots and ori...hell, what am I saying? I'll take the job! If only for the fab-u-lous acoustics you have in this place!"

"Is that the only reason?"

Leaning forward a little, the demon added. "Plus, I always had this thing about living in a castle... kinda wanting to be Prince Charming... but without the pantyhose and cod-pieces, cos major ick!"

Despite the melancholy lingering over him at Professor Trelawny's death, the Head Master had trouble concealing a small smile. "I can assure you that cod-pieces are certainly not part of the dress code, although, should you wish to acquire one, I am certain Professor Flitwick could provide you with one."

"Charmed ones, huh?"

"Actually, I think they may be from his personal wardrobe..."

Scarlet eyes widened. "Okay... I kinda wish I had never been to _that _visual place."

"If I may ascertain, does this mean that you are willing to remain and begin teaching as soon as possible?"

"Is the Pope a Catholic?" There was a pause. "Actually, is he? I never got a chance to ask."

"That would be a yes... and I believe it will only be until this summer, then you will be completely free to return to your bar, should you wish to."

Lorne beamed at him. "Sounds great to me, bright eyes," he replied cheerfully. "But I do have one eensy, weensy little thing I gotta have changed, if I'm gonna teach these kids how to see the future and the magic of music."

"And that is...?"

"You gotta get me outta that tower room. I'm no Rapunzel and that tower is just way to out of the way for the social butterfly that is me. And I kinda wanna have a room that's actually got some of those acoustics that I was talking about." 

"I'm sure we will be able to arrange that for you, Lorne."

The demon looked delighted. "This is so exciting! I always wanted to be a teacher, y'know! I adore kids, but no school in the good old U.S. would ever have a demon on the staff... I guess I'm a bit too ethnic for them to deal with, huh?"

"Rest assured that you will always be welcome here," Dumbledore rose from his seat and rounded the desk. "Perhaps we could find a suitable room for you to base your teaching in?"

"If it's not too much trouble..."

"Do you have anything particular in mind?"

"Big, round, high ceilings, lotsa light, plenty of room..." Lorne marked them off on his fingers as they approached the door. "And I mentioned big, right? And those high ceilings - pretty much a must."

"I think that we will be able to find you somewhere in the castle to fit all those requirements," Dumbledore said genially. "And if we can't, I'm sure we can adjust one of the rooms to suit."

"You can do that?"

"Of course, but only if we ask the castle nicely."

Lorne gave the Head Master a strange look. "Of course..."

***

The corridor was as dark as it had been the day before, but this time, it wasn't silent.

A male voice was cursing loudly and proficiently, his words reaching the ears of the only vampire in the vicinity, as Angel walked along the gloomy hall, where one of the paintings hung open.

"I thought I might find you here."

Whipping around, Spike stared wildly up at the dark vampire. "Oh! It's just you." 

"Thanks for the compliment," Angel said sourly. 

Spike rolled his eyes, shaking his head impatiently and returning his attention to his previous activity, digging through the ruined furniture and mess that littered the floor of his room.

"It's not here," the older vampire said.

"You what?"

Angel withdrew an object from behind his back. It was a hefty, ancient book, with thick parchment pages bound in knobbly black leather. The blond vampire's eyes went wide at the sight of it and he scrambled to his feet. "Is this what you were looking for?"

Licking his lips, Spike nodded, reaching out for it. "I-I thought she'd nicked it," he whispered, taking the book reverently and cradling it against his chest, his hands spreading shakily on the cover. 

"How did you get it, Spike?"

Blue eyes rose. "He gave it to me," the younger vampire replied, his voice trembling with emotion. "He... he thought I could use it... I told him I didn't deserve it, but he said I... do you think I could, Angel?"

The darker vampire started at the use of his name. More often than not, Spike had produced a new nickname for him every time they had bumped into one another, after he had been cursed with his soul.

"Do you want to?"

Pressing the heel of a hand to his forehead, Spike shook his head uncertainly. "I-I dunno," he replied honestly. "I... I have the chance... and I know I... well, anyone would be interested... not many would be willing, but I... with things the way they are, I wonder if maybe I'd be better that way..."

"And if things weren't the way they are now...?"

Spike pressed blood-shot eyes closed. "My Sire and the first person I loved is dead, dusted by my own hand. I'm best mates with the Slayer and her happy band of fruit loops. I'm the snuggle-pet of the Deputy Head Mistress of a wizard's school... I-I can't even try to imagine what it'd be like, if it wasn't like this..."

"You happy?"

Looking at the floor briefly, nibbling on his lower lip, Spike slowly raised his eyes and nodded. "Never been happier. Crazy, eh? Can't feed, can't hardly fight, can't do anything vaguely useful and I'm happier than I've ever been in my unlife."

"You know what the legends say about it, don't you?" Angel murmured, looking at the book.

"Who doesn't?" the blond admitted. "Only one ever managed... it's for the ones who have been around so long that what they are doesn't matter... or those ones who miss what they had... if you're a sap like that, how're you meant to get through it?"

"Are you asking me or are you wondering if you'd be strong enough?"

Spike shrugged. "A bit of both?"

Raising a hand, Angel squeezed the younger vampire's shoulder. "Spike, after seeing what Dru put you through... after seeing what you suffered to stop her getting to Dawn, I think you could."

"Hey, now! Don't you be getting any ideas that I'm turning into a righteous old poof like you!" Spike exclaimed, although it lacked the venom that was usually directed at the older vampire.

Angel grinned a little. "Wouldn't dream of it," he replied. "And if you do decide to go through with it..."

"You'll be the first laughing, if I fail?" The older vampire gave the younger one a look. "Okay, maybe not, but it was worth a guess, eh? You'll be wanting all the gory details, won't you?"

"I'm curious," he admitted.

"You got a deal," Spike agreed, smiling genuinely. 

Angel nodded, turning to walk away, then seemed to remember something. Pausing, he dipped his hand into his pockets. "I found these," he said, withdrawing an intact pair of glasses. "I thought you might want them repaired..."

Taking his spectacles back, Spike nodded gratefully, pressing his lips together, unable to form a verbal response.

"You're welcome," Angel said softly, then walked away.

***

A quiet tap on the door caused Severus Snape to break off on his tirade about the stupidity of the third year class he was teaching, the Ravenclaw girl taking the chance to scuttle back to her place, her head down.

"Enter!"

The door opened, a small, slim figure standing in the frame, blonde hair highlighted by the flickering torches. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

Snape's brows beetled. "Summers?"

The Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor nodded. "I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute, Professor Snape," she said quietly, so formal, so serious, so unlike her normal form of address.

Apparently most of the pupils noticed and thought it strange as well, a flurry of whispers only silenced when he turned a dark look on them, all faces bowed over the simmering cauldrons.

She spoke, then withdrew into the hall, as if expecting him to just drop everything and talk to her, as if she were more important than anything he had to do at present.

"Continue with your work," he snapped briskly, stalking towards the doorway and out into the hall, where Summers was waiting, her arms folded over her chest, gazing up at a gargoyle on the wall. 

It was pulling faces at her, but her expression remained serious.

"What is it, Summers?" he demanded irritably, closing the classroom door behind him.

Hazel eyes lifted to him. "I wanted to thank you," she said quietly. 

"For what?"

"Everything you've done for us in the last few days. You didn't need to help us, but you did it anyway. You made that potion to help Cordy... and me. You got Dawnie out of the way of those demons. You looked after her for me."

"I did what any other teacher in this school would have done, Summers."

All right, that was generally true for most of the staff, but he had also received several blows in the process of dragging Dawn Summers from the Great Hall, but surely, she didn't know about that.

"Dawnie told me you got hurt when you were getting her out."

Bugger.

"A bruise or two. Nothing serious," he replied stiffly.

"Still," She stepped a little closer to him. "You did more than you had to." One small hand rose and centred over his breastbone, her touch so light that he could barely even feel it. "Thank you."

Hazel eyes held black, the Slayer wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue.

Summers started to rise as he bent towards her, one of his hands cupping her face.

She was shaking slightly, as he came closer, eyes fluttering closed. Their lips were barely a breath apart when a deafening gong sounded and they jerked apart, staring at one another warily. 

Snape stepped back a moment before the students started pouring out of the class.

"I-I better get back to my room," Summers mumbled, clearing her throat. "Got a class to take..."

Turning, she marched away up the corridor, leaving Severus Snape puzzling over what had just happened, that didn't involve throwing her up against a wall and kissing her like it was their last minute on earth.

Very strange.

For the first time, they had almost shared a kiss that didn't involve bruises, scrapes or virtually dislocated limbs.

How very odd.

***

"Is your life normally like that?"

Sitting in front of the dressing table in her room, brushing her hair, Dawn glanced at Dunca, who was sitting on the edge of her bed. "That?" she replied. "That's pretty much normal. Demons, vampires, oogy monsters. Actually, normally, it's worse."

Duncan shuddered. "And I thought facin' Snape was bad..."

"Now d'you get why I'm not scared of the guy?"

The Scottish boy nodded. "One, ye have a vampire for a virtual big brother. Two, ye live where monsters are everyday things you see in the streets. An' three," He flashed a grin at her. "Yer a freak of nature."

A hairbrush sailed through the air and smacked him on the head.

"Oi!"

"Don't call me a freak, you freak!"

"Yer sayin' bein' normal is a good thing?"

Dawn turned on the stool she was sitting on, pushing her long hair back over her shoulders. "I guess not," she admitted. "If I was normal, I'd never have come here and met you and everybody else."

"Everybody else bein' the Weasley twins, Snape an' Harry Potter?"

"Um..."

Duncan grinned at her. "Yer so obvious, ye know, Dawnie."

"Well, is it my fault that I'm good at making potions that Fred and George think will be good for making prank stuff? And is it my fault that Harry Potter is super-cute and that Snape is way cool?"

"Snape and cool... two words that never ever belong in the same sentence..."

Dawn reached over and slapped Duncan's knee. "Don't be mean," she chastised him, frowning. "Snapey saved my life yesterday, when those demons tried to grab me, so he's... pretty much a big dork who thinks I can't look after myself."

Smothering a grin, Duncan shook his head. "Ye are such a girl..."

"Observant much?" Standing up, Dawn smoothed her Gryffindor robes and dusted her hands off on her trousers. "Come on. We have to go and see Angel leaving. He's taking a portkey out."

"I thought he was here tae help yer sister..."

Dawn beamed at her friend. "He is. He's going to get help for her. He'll be back."

"Will there be more demons an' monster an' things comin' back with him?" Duncan asked warily. "Not that the one he brought was bad, but if there are dangerous things, I don't think I wanna be nearby when they get here." 

The dark-haired girl shook her head. "I'm not gonna tell and ruin the surprise," she said, a naughty glint in her blue eyes. "And I like seeing you freaking out."

"Has anyone ever told ye yer mean?"

"Only you and since you're as bad as I am, I don't think you count as a good judge of it," Dawn replied, looping her arm through his. "C'mon."

***

With the evening meal in progress and the sun just disappearing over the horizon, Angel was preparing to depart, the portkey arranged to deliver him straight to the Hyperion Hotel, where he lived in Los Angeles.

Dumbledore had arranged it so that the defences of the school that protected against Portkey invasion would only be open for a split second. In that semi-heartbeat, the vampire would be instantly transported from Hogwarts to Los Angeles.

Walking down the steps of the castle with Angel, as twilight descended rapidly around them, Buffy looked out around the grounds. "You won't take too long, will you?" she asked.

"I'll be as quick as I can," Angel replied. "I spoke to the Head Master about it and he said that the Portkey will be powered to bring us back in twenty-four hour intervals, so if I'm not back in twenty-four, I'll be back in forty-eight..."

"We better just hope that Glory doesn't try anything in the next couple of days, then," Buffy murmured, shivering slightly as the air of the early Spring evening seeped through her robes.

"She lost a squad of her boys last night and they'll take some replacing," Angel reminded her gently. "I don't think she'll be ready to do anything yet and the defences around here seem to be holding."

"Yeah, I guess."

Standing in the middle of the lawn, both of them glanced back towards the castle when someone yelled their names.

A slender figure with robes hiked up to her waist, over her jeans, was sprinting down the castle steps and onto the open lawn, with another, stockier figure running behind her, tripping over his robes.

"Dawnie!"

"I wanted to say bye, Angel!" the teenager panted. "You can't just disappear without saying bye!"

"He's coming back, Dawn," Buffy said, laughing.

Dawn nodded, gripping Angel's arm as she tried to catch her breath. "I know," she breathed, her other hand on her chest. Duncan was bent over behind her, gripping his knees and panting. "But I had to ask... can you bring... some Hersheys chocolate back with you?"

"So you only love me for my chocolate-buying abilities?" Angel tried to look hurt.

"Uh huh?" Dawn grinned at him, blowing out a breath. "Man, there are a lotta stairs in that castle... and is that a yeah?"

"Why would you want Hersheys?"

Nodding towards Duncan, who waved his fingers, Dawn replied, "He's never tried it and he wants to taste it."

"I guess I could manage that," Angel sighed with the expression of a martyr.

Dawn threw her arms around him with a squeal. "You are so great!" she exclaimed, hugging him tightly. "And..." Stepping back, she looked over at Duncan, who nodded nervously. "Can you do me a huge favour?"

"That depends..."

"Duncan's never seen a vampire all grry... can you?"

"Dawn!" Buffy exclaimed.

"What? It's not like it's a big deal!" Dawn pouted, her hands still latched securely onto Angel's arm. "Please, Angel?"

The vampire looked down at her, then at Buffy, who shook her head, rolling her eyes expressively. Turning his attention back to Dawn, he grinned a little. "You're just like your sister," he said, tutting. "I can't resist you either."

"Cool!" 

Angel gestured Duncan forward, the boy looking apprehensive. "Don't be afraid of me, kid," he said. "I don't bite..." His face morphed, fangs glinting in the evening light, his eyes glowing gold. "Much." 

Duncan uttered a faint squeak, then keeled over, only to be caught by Buffy before he hit the ground.

"He fainted?!?!" Dawn stared down at her friend.

"Well, he's not used to seeing demons, Dawnie," Buffy remarked, swinging the boy up in her arms. "And you better let go of Angel, so you don't get sucked in with the Portkey as well." 

Stepping back, Dawn nodded. "We'll see you soon," she said.

"You can count on it," Angel agreed.

There was a whooshing sound and a pop and the vampire was gone.

"C'mon, Dawnie, let's get your boyfriend back inside."

"He's _not_ my boyfriend!"

Buffy gave her sister a look. "He's a boy, he's a friend, so he's a boyfriend."

Dawn pulled a face, trailing after her sister as they made their way back up the lawn and Buffy jogged up the long staircase, Duncan's head bobbing against her shoulder with every step.

Stopping at the top of every flight of stairs, the dark-haired teen was out of breath by the time they reached the door that lead into Great Hall, where Duncan moaned pitifully and opened his eyes.

"You okay, Duncan?" Buffy asked.

Placed back on his feet, the boy swayed unsteadily, then nodded. "Aye... I-I think I'm gonnae be fine," he replied, Dawn holding onto his arm as she tried to both hold him upright and catch her breath. "Thanks."

Buffy looked him over, then nodded. "I'm gonna head to the teacher's entrance. See you inside," she said, before hurrying off down one of the side passages and leaving the pair of them standing at the door.

"I can't believe..." Dawn panted. "That you fainted... you wuss..."

"Fainted?" Duncan smirked. "Who said anythin' about me faintin'?"

"I... saw you..."

The Scottish boy assumed his most innocent expression, blue eyes round. "Dawnie, lass, what ye saw was me hitchin' a Slayer-shaped taxi, so I didnae have tae run up all those stairs all over again... an' if ye want tae see why, just look at us. Which one is out of breath and which one looks like he just had a nice wee rest?"

Dawn blinked.

Duncan grinned. "And ye thought ye were the only one who would be sneaky around here, eh?" he laughed, looping an arm through hers. "Come on. We best get in and get somethin' tae eat."

"You... you're sneaky..."

"Aye," he agreed, giving her a proud nod. "And don't ye forget it."

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Author's Notes: YAY! It's short! It STAYED short! Happy day! Although, I honestly never thought there would be a day when I classed an 11-page chapter as short, but here it is!

Coming fairly soon (Not giving deadlines cos I usually break 'em) in the next chapter of The Eighth Weasley: Buffy's allies start arriving, Draco decides that he has had enough of Glory, a fugitive takes shelter in Hogwarts and more!


	51. Broken Minds

The Eighth Weasley - Chapter Fifty-One

Broken Minds

Notes: I've had people picking on me for the lack in Willow-ness, so big apologies, but I've had so much to fit in the recent chapters, I figured I could let her be minor for a few chapters (she has been there - just not doing anything big!). Don't worry - she'll be getting some more action soon (She's a super-duper-wandless witch - you think that's going to be left alone?). I just wanted the allegiances to be sorted out first, plus multi-character-introduction as well.

Actually, thinking about it, a couple of chapters ago, I had people complaining about the lack in Xander-action. It's kinda difficult to keep tabs on so many people, but trust me, they will all have their part to play! There's a reason that they're all there!

As for Willow being the character of the title and deserving all the attention - that was before I knew what was going to happen ie. coming to Hogwarts, a Glory-connection etc. If I'd known it was going to involve everyone, I would have probably called it something else. Too late now, tho :P

______________________________________

"This is really too weird."

Xander gave Cordelia, his reinstated girlfriend, an affectionate smile. "Which part of it, sweetie?" he asked, looking at her. "The being-in-a-castle, the wizardy school thing or the us-dating-again thing?"

For the first time since the poker-through-gut-vision, Cordelia was up and about. It was through her insistence that she and Xander had been allowed to come down to the Great Hall for breakfast, her wound almost fully healed.

Pointing with a piece of toast, she directed his attention to the laughing couple who were walking down the aisle of the Hall, hand-in-hand. "Willow being all into the girls... I mean, when did this happen?"

"I dunno," Xander replied, grinning up at the pair as Hermione released Willow's fingers and hurried towards the High Table. "But I wish I'd been there to see it."

"Xander!" An indignant slap was landed on his thigh by the Seer, who gave him a mock-annoyed look, which he counteracted with his best puppy-dog eyes. "You are such a... a... guy!"

"Thanks," he laughed, grabbing an apple from the bowl of fruit on the table. "And good morning to you, Miss Weasley."

Starting, Willow looked around. "What?" 

"Just saying morning, Wills," Xander replied amiably. "And if you keep staring like that without blinking, I've heard there's scientific proof that your eyes will shrivel up and drop out."

"Xander, everyone knows that's just a story..."

"But notice how you blink repeatedly now!" he exclaimed, wagging a finger at her, before taking a bite of his apple. "Oh," he added around a mouthful. "Cordy wants to know how long you've liked girls for."

"Xander," Cordelia hissed, slapping his thigh again.

"What?" he whined, turning the puppy-eyes on her again. "You wanted to know!"

Willow had a hand over her mouth, trying not to grin at them. "You guys are just like you were the first time you went out," she said, looking from one to the other. "Only, you know, kinda older."

"And even better-looking in Cordy's case," Xander said sincerely.

"Are you just trying to stop me being mad at you?"

"Is it working?"

Cordelia's scowl turned into a half-smile. "Yeah..."

"In that case," Xander replied, grinning. "I'm definitely trying." he turned his eyes back to the red head on the other side of the table. She was laughing. "So, Wills... you and the girlies..."

Sniffing dignifiedly, Willow looked around the table which was piled with breakfast foods, summoning a bowl of yoghurt to her hands. "That's none of your business, Xander Harris," she replied coyly.

"But you are really more into girls than guys?" Cordelia asked, sounding hopeful and a little suspicious. "I mean, there's no chance of me finding you and Xander making out again?"

"Cordy!" Willow exclaimed. "There's more chance of Xander running in on you and me making out..."

"Oh dear sweet God in Heaven, don't let that be a joke!" Xander glazed over. "I would die a happy man!"

"Xander!" Both girls yelled indignantly, going scarlet. Cordelia slapped him lightly across the back of the head.

"What?" He raised his hands in self-defence. "I'm a guy!"

Willow pulled a face at him, her nose wrinkling. "You better not mention any of this in front of Hermione," she said. "If she thought it would make me blush more than usual, she would probably invite you to watch. And I get the feeling I shouldn't have said that..." Xander grinned widely at her. "You dare, Xander, and I'll turn you into a... well, I don't know what yet, but it'll be really bad! So bad I can't even think about it! That's how bad it is!"

"I kinda wanna meet this girlfriend of yours properly, Willow," Cordelia remarked, leaning around Xander to look up at the High Table, where Hermione was sitting and chatting with Lorne. "What's she like? A female Xander? Or a female Oz?"

"Actually," Willow beamed up at her lover when Hermione glanced at her. "She's kinda like no one I've ever met before. She's really smart and sweet and nice and she knows so much stuff..."

"Not at all like anyone we know," Xander dead-panned.

"Huh?" Willow stared at him.

"Hello, Wills? Smart, sweet, nice, knows stuff... ringing any bells?"

Willow's face creased in helpless confusion. "Uh... Giles?" she replied with a shrug.

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "He means you, Willow," she said, shaking her head, her hand resting on Xander's thigh. "I thought that you were meant to be the smart one around here."

One side of Willow's mouth lifted slightly in a half-smile. "Yeah..." she murmured, looking up at her lover at the High Table again. "I guess we are kinda... sorta alike. Except she's pretty."

"And you are too," Xander said emphatically. "You gotta stop putting yourself down so much, Wills. You're easily as cute as Hermione is." Cordelia coughed, raising a brow. Xander immediately wrapped an arm around her. "Although, neither of you are as gorgeous as my girlfriend, Cordelia."

"You got him well trained," Willow noted, grinning. 

Cordelia returned the grin, her brown eyes dancing. "What can I say?" she said airily. "When you're good, you're good."

***

"You look a little nervous."

Wringing his hands, Lorne tried to smile weakly. "If my skin wasn't already green, you'd see how sick with nerves I am!" he exclaimed. "Stage fright has nothing on teaching fright."

"I'm sure you'll do fine," Dumbledore smiled reassuringly. "Unlike your unfortunate predecessor, you do actually have a history of very accurate predictions, whereas dear Sybill was... less than skilled for the most part."

"But what if I can't teach them anything?"

"You're a psychic, Lorne," Anya piped up from the window, where she was peering out onto the grounds. "You can't teach someone to be a psychic. You can just find the ones who have the ability and show them how to use it."

"She does have a valid point," Dumbledore agreed. "There is bound to be at least one person with some psychic abilities. It's just a matter of sorting the wheat from the chaff, but without making it apparent that you are doing so."

"Oh and that's going to be easy in a room full of paranoid teenagers," Lorne gave the Head Master a look. "You know, bright eyes, I'm starting to realise why the sunny Miss Summers says you're evil."

"Me? Evil?" Dumbledore chuckled. "She must be confusing me with someone else."

"Sure," Lorne snorted. "And I'm the Queen."

The Head Master's eyes twinkled. "If you insist, your Majesty," he said, walking towards the door, Anya hurrying after him. "And we ought to leave you to prepare, as your first students will be here shortly."

"Great...excited about it already... not shaking with nerves at all..." Lorne rubbed his hands together nervously. "And if I suck at this, you won't fire me right away, right? You'll wait until... I don't know... noon maybe?"

"You'll do great, Lorne!" Anya enthused. She had taken a genuine liking to him, simply because of her own former-demon roots. "And if Albus thinks of firing you, I'll change his mind!"

"You will, will you?" 

Looping her left arm through his right and taking his hand, her right hand patted his forearm through his robes. "You know I can do it, Albus," she said cheerfully, as they started out of the door. "And you'll enjoy it, because you don't seem to understand that me tickling you is meant to be a bad thing."

"Oh I understand it," Dumbledore replied amiably. "But why should I be afraid when you are so adept at it?"

"You're meant to scream and fight!"

There was a quiet chuckle from the Head Master. "If that is what you require, I'm sure I could provide it, my dear," he replied in a conspiratorial tone of voice.

Shaking his head, watching them go, Lorne closed the door after them.

Turning, he looked around at his classroom, a cold feeling settling in the pit of his stomach, as he wondered if he was at all ready for this.

The classroom, on the plus side, made him feel comfortable. It had been selected and adjusted by Dumbledore, who had spent hours cajoling the castle into raising the roof a little, to give the room a domed ceiling which would provide excellent sound.

It was - like Trelawny's tower room - a round room with low tables and comfortable cushioned chairs of various colours beside them, but had a distinct lack of the tacky, gaudy drapes and overused incense sticks.

Windows were positioned all around the walls, flooding the room with bright, fresh daylight, with only the thinnest of white gauze drapes hanging down from brass curtain poles, on brass rings.

A few small paintings hung on the walls, between the tall windows, the occupants preening and primping in preparation for the arrival of the class. Beneath them, small cupboards stood and at one point in the wall, there was a small fireplace.

Most importantly, though, in Lorne's opinion, Dumbledore had been able to provide a magically-powered music system. Very basic, but he knew it would serve to provide a certain ambiance to the room.

Opposite the door, a large chair that looked strangely like a throne with a squishy seat stood. Approaching it, he was amused to notice that, as he neared, the dark blue fabric immediately changed colour to match his silver-blue suit.

Sitting down, he leaned back, unable to smother a groan as he sank into the warm, soft fabric.

Seriously, the wizarding world would have made a fortune if they started selling their variety of furniture to the muggle world. Lorne made a mental note to ask the Head Master to put the seat aside for him to take back to L.A. when he left.

A tap on the door stirred him from revelling in the warm depths of the chair and he opened his eyes. "Come in."

A nervous-looking fourth year peered into the room. "Is... is this divination?"

"Sure is, sweetie," Standing up, Lorne hid his nerves behind a broad smile, spreading his hands in a welcoming gesture, hoping he wouldn't scare them. "Come on in and make yourself comfortable."

Gradually, the class trickled in, most of them sitting as far from his chair as possible, although a few that he had spoken to, a few nights earlier piled into the tables at the front, grinning up at him.

From what he remembered, the house that made up this class was Ravenclaw. 

He had been warned that the majority of them were logical thinkers and wouldn't think twice about posing a lot of questions and a couple were notoriously arrogant about their intelligence.

After doing a quick headcount to be sure that everyone was present and accounted for, he took his place at the front of the room. "So, you had Professor Trelawny for Divination. What did she teach you about the subject?"

"That it's all a load of codswallop," a dark-haired boy replied snottily from the back of the class.

One side of Lorne's mouth lifted slightly. "And yet, here you are taking the class, cupcake," he challenged with a knowing look. The boy glowered at him. "So, what makes you think that divination is 'codswallop', then?"

"I don't see how the random alignment of tea leaves in a cup can be said to predict the future."

"You got me there," Lorne admitted, "Although there are some super reliable tea-readers out there. Don't know how they do it, but I gotta admit that they're good at what they do."

"You don't know how it works?" one of the girls beside the dark-haired boy said. "I don't understand how you're meant to teach us, if you don't understand it."

Sitting down, Lorne tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the arm of the chair. "Tell me, sweetie, do you think Professor McGonagall knows exactly how transfiguration works?" the girl opened her mouth to reply, but he pre-empted her. "No, not what it does, because we all know that. How it does what it does."

She frowned, looking to the boy next to her, who looked equally confused.

"Or maybe potions," Lorne continued, receiving a few nods of understanding from some of the closer tables. "If you mix one buncha ingredients, you get soup. You mix another, you get a potion. What makes a potion different from a soup? You wanna ask old cranky britches about it? Go ahead." 

"I don't see how this relates to telling the future, though," the boy put in. "After all, you actually learn how to do things in transfiguration and potions. You make things. Change things. Here, you just look at crystal balls and tea leaves and are expected to see things."

"And I'm guessing you chose this course because it looked like it was easy?" The boy said nothing. "Well, hon, let me tell you that divination works. I've been making a living from it for a few years and even if I do it my way, there other ways and I'd say its better to try a bit of everything to find out what you're good at than nothing. If you're a diviner, this is the best place you can learn it and hey! I can correct it or not, from what I know of the future."

"So they got a fortune teller to teach us?"

"I s'pose you could say that, Mr Sceptical. And you are?"

"If you're a fortune teller, you should know."

"Hon, I tell fortunes," Lorne couldn't help violently disliking the boy. Damn, he was even worse than Angel on evil-brood-mode. "I don't really need to tell people their own names, unless they're real dumb. So, I'll ask you again, you are?"

The boy tilted his chin proudly. "Roger Gilmerton."

"Well, Roger," Smiling a rather nasty smile, Lorne pressed his fingertips against his forehead, feigning a spasm. "I foresee that if you don't learn some manners, real fast, you're gonna fail this class."

"You can't do that! I mean, you won't..."

Narrowing red eyes to slits, smirking, Lorne spread his hands expressively. "Hon, in case you hadn't noticed, I'm a evil, nasty and all round not-nice demon. Of course I'll do something as evil as fail you for being all mouth and no action in my class." 

A few of the other pupils were giggling behind their hands at the mortified look on Roger's face.

"Now, are you gonna apologise and play nice, so we can get on with this?"

Scowling, Roger muttered, "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, poodle, but I'm a little hard of hearing... could you repeat that?"

"I am sorry."

Lorne beamed at him "That wasn't so hard was it, sweets? Well, maybe it was for you, but now, let's get into this future thing. How many of you have had a feeling of deja vu, before?"

A dozen hands rose.

"You know, I knew that you'd be the ones," he commented, with a chuckle. "And who knew I was gonna ask that?"

"I did!"

"I know you did," Lorne replied, receiving a chorus of snickers as he clapped his hands, rubbing them together. "Baby, I'm on a roll!"

***

"I can see why you like it here," Cordelia said, looking around the grounds as she and Xander descended the staircase onto the lawn, her hand interlocked with his. "It's really beautiful."

The air was crisp and sharp, but not too cold for late January, the sky a clear blue and blotted with puffs of white. However, cold by Los Angeles standards was definitely a lot warmer than cold by Hogwarts standards.

Loaned some of McGonagall's winter robes because she had not packed enough winter clothing, to stave off the chill in the air, the American Seer looked strangely in her element.

"It's okay," Xander admitted, looking across the vast lawn towards the Forbidden Forest. "A bit too magical for me, but everyone else seems to like it... Buffy likes it here. She says it's peaceful."

"Fighting demons in the Great Hall is peaceful... right..."

"We've had worse."

Cordelia grimaced. "Yeah," she murmured, shuddering at the memory of various points during high school. "Way worse... and then, visions had to come along..."

"Worse than high school?"

"I'll say," She pulled a face. "I get 'em in surround sound and three-dimension-style and that's... a giant spider!"

Xander yelped in surprise when she leapt behind him, her arms locking around his neck as she tried to conceal herself from the arachnid that was scuttling across the grass towards them. "Cordy! It's just Meralob!"

"Huh?"

Negotiating Cordelia's arms from his neck, he squatted down as the spider hurried towards him. While it wasn't one of Aragog's larger grandchildren, it still was larger than any spider Cordelia had seen, it's body eighteen inches long.

"Cordy, this is Meralob," Xander answered, clapping the spider on the back, as it's body heaved, suggesting it was a little out of breath. "Great seven times grandson of a friend of mine."

Cordelia gave him a look he recognised. Buffy and Willow had given him the same look when he had told them he was friends with a giant spider. "You really do have a thing for bugs, don't you?"

"Spiders aren't bugs," he replied, grinning a little. "And Aragog and his family... they're nothing like any spiders I've ever met."

"How come?"

"They can talk."

"Pfft!"

"You find something amusing?" a hoarse voice, punctuated by rapid clicks, said.

Brown eyes blinked at the spider.

"Told you," Xander grinned broadly, then turned his attention back to Meralob. "So what got you to come out of the forest at this time of day? Is Aragog all right? Has something happened?"

Meralob bobbed his body from side to side in a gesture that Xander had come to recognise as a negative. "All is well, young one," he replied in his clicking, rasping voice. "Aragog wishes to meet the one you deem your lifemate."

"My lifemate?"

"You said that she is here and Aragog wishes to meet her."

"Without eating her, right?"

The spider chuckled, it's body bobbing again. "Eating of your lifemate is forbidden, young one."

"What's all this lifemate stuff?" Cordelia inquired warily, shivering as she caught a glimpse of the spider over Xander's shoulder. "And why would this Aragog guy want to meet it?"

"It's just something I talked about with him," Straightening up, Xander took one of her hands. "Cordy, I know you're kinda not likin' the bugs, but could you do me a big favour and come and meet Aragog...? Please?"

"Hold on a second... Aragog wants to meet your lifemate, not...hey!"

Xander's grin looked slightly forced. "Did I mention I love you, sweetie?"

Pursing her lips, Cordelia tried to hide the bubble of laughter that was welling up inside of her. "You are such a big dork, Xander Harris!" she exclaimed. "Even after high school!"

"So you'll come with me?"

Huffing a breath out through her nose, she rolled her eyes towards the sky. "I guess so, but if anything creepy and oogy happens, I'm so blaming you!"

***

"You think this is a good idea?"

"Probably not, but I'm gonna to do it anyway."

Kneeling on the floor on top of her folded robes, Dawn was carefully stirring the cauldron of bubbling potion, as Duncan paced back and forth across the bathroom, twisting his hands together.

Between two classes and missing lunch, having broken into the kitchen and accepted the house elves gifts of large, meaty sandwiches, the pair were in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom yet again.

Myrtle was elsewhere, for which they were grateful.

Dauncan had cheerfully insisted it was because Dawn had terrified her, in the wake of the revelation about Willow and Hermione's relationship.

Although she didn't want to admit it, Dawn had to agree, because she had stormed into the bathroom and, ignoring Myrtle's pathetic wails that no one ever paid her any attention, had started screaming a ranting tirade at the ghost.

When she had yelled herself hoarse, Myrtle had hovered in front of her, a look of shock on her glum features. For the first time on record, she made no response, floating backwards into her cubicle and silently sinking down the toilet.

She hadn't been seen in the vicinity of Dawn since.

"I know it could mean I'd be able to avoid gettin' in a bad situation, but..."

Dawn raised her eyes to him. "Duncan, you saw what happened with the demons and things. I don't want you getting in any kind of trouble, so if you need to get out of sight and to safety, at least you'll have this to do it."

"But ye could get in trouble for makin' it for me."

The girl shrugged. "No big," she replied. "I'm not a student here and they can't tell me what to do. If I wanna protect you with some kinda weird soup, I don't care if I'm too young by wizard standards, I'm gonna make it."

"Ye know ye don't have to..."

"And you know that if you don't stop telling me that I'm gonna pour this cauldron over your head!" Dawn responded, casting a glare in his direction. "Will you make with the silence and let me finish this?"

"But..."

"Duncan!"

The Scottish boy fell silent immediately, but didn't stop pacing back and forth as Dawn continued to add different ingredients to the potion, clouds of different coloured steam rising from the pewter container.

Finally returning to the spot where she was kneeling, he squatted down to look into the cauldron, the glutinous dark green potion that was the consistency of porridge contained in the pot.

"Ye expect me to drink that?"

"No," Dawn replied. "I expect you to dance with it! Of course I expect you to drink it! You wanna go and get all killed on us just because you're a wuss and can't drink a little bit of potion?"

"Good point," Duncan's nose wrinkled as he looked into the cauldron. "Are ye sure that's no' spinach?"

"Do you want to wear this cauldron?"

The boy grinned at her. "Just teasin'," he said.

"Good thing you're my friend, or I'd hit you for that! With the cauldron!"

"Och, yer just so lady-like, aren't ye?"

"That's it, Mister! you are goin' down!" Scrambling to her feet, Dawn lunged at him, laughing, Duncan scrambling backwards across the floor, howling in dismay as he was tackled by the shrieking Dawn.

Anyone who passed the toilets that afternoon and heard the anguished howls from within would have assumed that Moaning Myrtle was doing her duty of haunting them, but they would have been far from right.

***

Her chin propped on her hand, eyes gazing blankly at the wall on the other side of the classroom, Willow Weasley was boredly banishing pillows across the room and into the pile building there.

She had been moved up to an older class for charms after Christmas and was trying to do the spells she was meant to, but with so much going on in her mind, from the impending threat of Glory to her lover, resorting to her own mode of magic was so much easier.

Muttering the spells and making the appropriate swish-and-flicks, she was using only the power of her mind to do the banishing, the effort required to control her wand too much to focus on.

There was way too much happening in the school.

Buffy was majorly wigged by Glory and the thought of an army and since Buffy was worrying, that meant that Giles was freaking as well but in his calm and very British way, which meant that the calm centre of their group was shaken.

After all, fighting Glory was one thing.

Fighting Glory as well as an army of miscellaneous hell beasts and wizards was another thing completely.

Part of her wished that she could be more help. Her rage towards the Hell Goddess bubbled up, her fury that the blonde bitch would even think about hurting or scaring Buffy or Dawnie making her shake with anger. 

The wood of her wand burned against the palm of her hand and she grit her teeth, the thought of showing Glory just what she felt flooding her mind.

No one hurt her friends and got away with it! 

No one upset Buffy, as long as she had anything to say about it! 

A shriek of fright made her start and she jolted out of the fantasy, looking around to see who had screamed.

Every eye was on her and she was startled to see Professor Flitwick in between her and the pupils, staring at her. His arms were spread wide, as if he were protecting the other students, his wand in his hand.

"What's up?" she inquired, feeling genuinely puzzled, her anger fading a little.

"You... you were not aware that you were... using your power?"

"Using my power? You mean my wandy power for banishing stuff?" Worried that she had been caught out, she held up her wand anxiously. "See! Got my wand all here and magic and making things banished!" 

She waved it in the direction of the pillows, which promptly exploded, showing the room with feathers. 

"Um... oops?"

"Out, now," Flitwick ordered the class, his voice crisp. 

Amid frightened murmurs, the class hastily grabbed their bags and fled, leaving the red-haired witch to face the Charms Professor. 

"Miss Weasley..."

"Um... okay, I was cheating and using mind powery things to move the pillows..."

Flitwick raised a small hand to silence her. "That isn't what frightened your fellow students," he said quietly. He offered her a small handkerchief, which she stared at in confusion. "You're bleeding, Miss Weasley."

"Bleeding?"

"Your nose," he replied. Willow raised a shaking hand and found an ooze of blood trickling from her left nostril. Taking the handkerchief, she pinched her nose, bewildered. "And, only a few moments ago, your eyes were... well... rather black."

"My eyes? Black? Nuh-uh! My eyes are green!"

"I am aware of this, Miss Weasley," he said gently, reaching up to pat her hand. "But for several moments, they were - in fact - black. You also appeared to have summoned some kind of air vortex, or at least a slight breeze to centre around you."

"I-I-I don't get it..."

"Perhaps something has been troubling you enough for more powerful emotions to manifest themselves in you?"

Willow frowned. "Well, I have been... kinda angry at Glory for this whole mess she got us in... and I was thinking about her a few minutes ago... and I did feel kinda mad at her, being a hellgoddessy ho..."

"I would say that would certainly be a positive trigger for a reaction such as the one you showed."

"You mean when I get all cranky, I get scary-looking?"

"I'm not entirely sure," her teacher replied pensively. "But you haven't been able to focus a lot recently. Perhaps you should rest and perhaps spend some time with a loved one, to distract you from this... dark power that is troubling you."

"And not come to classes anymore?"

Flitwick gave her an apologetic look. "Miss Weasley, you must have your anger under your control, as well as actually being focussed when you are present in the class. Using your own abilities, instead of those taught to you..."

"Is cheating," she finished with a sigh, running a hand wearily over her face. "I'll... I think I need to talk to Hermione... she's the one who can help me calm down." 

Flitwick patted her hand again. "Take heart, Miss Weasley, you aren't the only one to be angered by this creature."

"Yeah, but I'm the only one who went all creepy-eyed, aren't I?" she replied a little unsteadily, getting to her feet and gathering her wand and bags up. "I'm sorry about the pillows."

"Don't worry, Miss Weasley," Flitwick accompanied her to the door and gave her a sympathetic smile. "You just be sure to recover yourself. I would hate to lose such an adept student."

Willow managed to return the smile weakly. "Thanks."

***

Aragog's huge body heaved, dry branches crackling beneath his immense weight. "I would greatly liked to have met the chosen lifemate of the young one," he said, his voice the thunder murmur that Xander had become familiar with.

"Um.. well, it's nice to... uh... meet you," Cordelia said with the false brightness she performed so well, the sight of the giant spider making her feel a little uneasy, more so since she knew he could squash her with one stamp of a giant leg.

The surroundings weren't exactly comforting either, immense dark trees with twisted and gnarled branches extending skywards, so thick that the sunlight barely permeated the place that the spiders called their 'hollow'.

Cobwebs, silvery in the faint light that had managed to ease it's way into the depths of the hollow, laced between the roots and branches, covering everything in an eerie looking, shimmering veil that still glittered with traces of the morning dew.

In some ways, it was kind of magical to look at, all the webs gleaming with a corona of silver-white, but - of course - the presence of around a hundred spiders of various shapes, sizes and colours was closer to the unnerving than the pretty.

"You sound similar in voice to the young one," the spider noted.

"Um... I do?"

"Your intonation is of similar origins."

"Oh! Right! We're both American!"

Aragog's enormous pincers clicked together. "American? Young one, you stated you were human..."

Xander couldn't help grinning. "America is the land that we come from, Aragog," he answered, squeezing Cordelia's fingers reassuringly. "That's why we sound the same and call ourselves Americans."

"Hmm," the spider shifted slightly, a log splintering beneath his body. "Humans are strange beings. You are all of the same shape and form and yet, you deny that you are all one species, with your names taken from your lands of origin."

"I guess so," Xander agreed. "Don't you take names of the place you come from?"

Aragog's massive head swivelled from side to side. "As long as we have the ability to recognise our kin, we take no importance from origins."

"Xander," Cordelia grabbed his arm.

"Cor...?" 

He barely had time to say that, when Cordelia's body jerked from an unseen blow and she stumbled, almost falling. Catching her quickly, the dark-haired youth knelt quickly, cradling her.

"Blond guy... he... he's in pain... skanky blonde woman..." Her voice was shaking, staggered, her hands jerking up to twist into her dark hair. Her fingertips pressed hard against her temples and she screamed in agony.

"Cordy!" The Seer went limp in his arms. Xander shook her gently. "Cor...?"

"Young one?"

"Aragog, I need to get Cordy back to the school! She had a vision!"

A deep booming sound issued from Aragog and there was the frantic rattle of spider legs over logs, a massive spider the size of a Shire horse bounding towards them over the logs and branch-strewn ground.

"Baradol will see you there," Aragog said, extending one of his enormous legs for Xander to use as a lever to lift Cordelia up onto the spider's broad back. Swinging up behind her, he held onto her tightly. "Take care of her, young one."

"I will," Xander said grimly, holding onto both her and the spider tightly, as the spider broke into a rapid gallop towards the edge of the forest and, from there, up towards the school.

***

Sprawled on the furry hearth rug in front of the fire, Glory swung her legs back and forth over her back, studying the moving pictures in the wizard catalogues, witches and wizards strutting around, looking glamorous.

The light oozing in through the tall windows mingled with the flickering golden glow of the flames to light the page she was studying, the heat taking the edge off the wintery chill that still lingered in the manor.

Clad in one of Luce's shirts and not much else, her hair in perfect disarray around her face, she didn't even acknowledge the presence of her lover's wife and son, sitting at the table at the far end of the drawing room.

She knew they were there, the hatred radiating out from the boy palpable, but - until Luce got back - they weren't important enough to garner her attention.

The tension in the room was delicious. 

Luce's wife was smart enough not to anger her or even dare to speak to her, for fear of being struck, but the son hadn't learned his lesson and had rapidly been growing more and more annoying.

He wanted to do something, now, she knew.

She also knew that Luce didn't mind what happened to his disrespectful little brat, as long as the boy was left alive.

Rolling onto her back, she glanced at them through slitted eyes and was amused to notice that the boy was glowering at her, while his mother appeared to be trying to look engrossed in the book she was pretending to read.

"Like what you see, puddin'?" she purred, rising to her feet and stretching, the shirt rising up her body.

The boy started to rise, but his mother laid a hand on his in caution. "Mother..."

"Draco, don't."

Shaking his mother's hand off, he glared at the Hell Goddess. "Why don't you go somewhere else and leave our family alone?"

"When it's so much fun seein' you all hot and bothered, sweets?" Glory grinned at him, showing all her teeth, but without humour. Her eyes were cold and deadly. "I don't think so."

Grey eyes - so like Luce's - narrowed to slits. "You don't belong here."

"Damn right, little boy," she replied, raising a hand to casually tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I belong in another dimension, where the Hellfires are burnin' and where people call me by my rightful title."

"And what would _that _be?"

Glory smiled thinly. "That would be Goddess, Junior."

He laughed, a snort of derisive disdain. "You really are completely mad!"

"Only when I need a top up, baby," she replied with a cool smirk. "And if you don't watch your step..."

"You'll what? Kill me?"

"Hardly, baby," Glory cooed, pacing towards him with the controlled, menacing tread of a predator. "I'll suck your brain as dry as a bone and enjoy every second of seein' you squirm and wriggle on the floor like a worm at my feet."

"You don't scare me."

"Draco," the wife implored, standing up.

"Trouble, my dear?"

Glancing at the doorway, where Luce was standing, Glory smiled at him. "Not at all, baby," she replied. "I'm just thinkin' about teachin' your boy to respect the divinity a lil bitty more."

"Narcissa, honestly, one would think you would raise our son with more manners and common sense," her husband sighed, as he approached Glory, sliding an arm loosely around her waist and smirking at his son.

The hurt in the blonde woman's eyes was palpable. Standing, she looked away. "I think I will go to my quarters," she said in a shaking voice.

"You bastard," the boy hissed at his father. "You... you consort with this... whore! You insult mother!"

"Draco, I would suggest that you hold your tongue."

"No! I've held my tongue long enough, father! How could you? Mother cares for you and you still go and form an allegiance with this American slut, who is quite obviously insane and you do so, right in front of my mother!"

"Draco," The wife stepped alongside him, grasping his arm. "It's all right." Her eyes were warily on Glory, who was grinning nastily at the boy. "Come with me..."

"No, mother! It has to be said!"

"Quite so, my boy," Luce said, his smile snake-like and chilling. "My dear," The words were directed at Glory, who was grinning maniacally. "Would you say that Draco needs to be disciplined?"

"No!" The wife stepped in front of her son. "Don't! Please!"

Glory glanced at Luce, who smiled and nodded.

With a casual backhand that caught the blonde witch across one side of her face, she sent Narcissa flying across the room, crashing against the one of the stone columns that lined the walls.

"You bitch!" The youth threw a blow at her, which Glory easily caught, her hand contracting around his fist. The bones crunched and he screamed, a wild ringing shriek of pain, blood rippling between her fingers.

"No!" the witch moaned, struggling onto her hands and knees, blood running from a wound to her temple. "No, please... use me... leave him... please..."

"Luce, babe, your wife's being kinda distracting..." Luce nodded, crossing the room to his wife, kneeling behind her and locking an arm around her arms and chest, his other hand clamping over her mouth. "Thanks, sweets."

Whimpering, barely conscious, the wife tried to struggle against her husband's tighter grip. 

"And now, puddin'," Glory smiled at Draco, who looked grey with pain, his eyes glassy and he was choking on sobs. Her free hand rose, stroking his hair back from his temple. "Lemme see what you have inside your head...."

Draco's sobs of pain rose to a scream as her fingertips thrust into his skull, light radiating out around them. Glory's other hand snapped up and pushed through his skull, smearing his own blood all over his face.

The blonde witch's muffled scream of anguish barely even registered, as Glory drained the powerful youth of everything he had inside. 

"Oh don't worry, Narcissa," her husband murmured in her ear, tightening his bruising grip on her. "He'll still be able to sire another Heir for the family, even if he is even more brainless than he is now."

Tears poured down her face, as she was forced to watch the Hell Goddess drain the sanity from her son.

***

Hefting her bag off her shoulder, Hermione straightened and stretched with a groan, her shoulder and back aching from the weight of all the books and scrolls contained in the leather satchel.

She had just finished teaching for the day and had returned to the room, to freshen up and change for the evening, but as soon as she kicked her shoes off and stepped into the room properly, she realised something was wrong.

Sitting in the middle of the mattress of the King-sized four-poster that had replaced their separate beds, Willow was out of her uniform, wearing jeans and fuzzy yellow and orange woolly jumper, her expression miserable.

A rose was hovering in front of her and it was slowly revolving.

"Willow?"

Green eyes rose to her. "Hey," she murmured.

"Are you all right?"

"Me? I'm all fine and dandy," Willow smiled, but it lacked her usual enthusiasm.

"Willow..."

"Okay, maybe not so much with the fine..." the red head admitted reluctantly, taking the rose out of the air. "Or the dandy, for that matter... my power went all screwy in charms and my eyes went all freaky deaky and black!"

"Black?" Crossing the room in several steps, Hermione sat down on the bed beside her lover and lifted Willow's face to her, scrutinising her. "Well, they don't look black now... are you sure?"

"Uh-huh," Willow said uncomfortably, averting her gaze. "The charms class freaked and Flitwick told me that maybe me being angry was making more powerful things happen to me without realising..." 

"So he told you to leave the class?"

"He... he kinda told me I needed to wind down a bit. That I needed to get some good vibes in me, so I don't get real angry again..."

"Good vibes?" Hermione lifted Willow's chin again, her thumb brushing along Willow's lower lip. "Would I be able to help you with that little problem?"

The red head's lips rose a little. "I-I did have somethin' I wanted to ask you if you would do and," She raised a hand to stave off the impending questions. "I know you're not big on the wandless magic, but Flitwick said I need to work on my focus and you always get me all focussed up."

"What is it?"

"It's a kinda bonding spell..." Willow's cheeks flushed prettily. "I wanna show you how much you mean to me. This spell lets you feel your lover's emotions and how much they feel for you... it's kinda difficult magic, but it's good for us... like meditation, only..."

"Only?"

Willow blushed even darker. "It's kinda... sexy and stuff..."

"All right, you've convinced me," Hermione said with a broad grin. "Where do you want me?"

Patting the spot just beside her on the bed, Willow nibbled her lip, as she arranged them both, so they were sitting hip-to-thigh, facing one another. Willow's right hip was resting against the middle of Hermione's right thigh and vice versa.

"What now?"

"There's a joint incantation, a bit like a chant-mantra-thingie," Willow explained, groping through a pile of notes that had been lying on the bed beside her, withdrawing one before depositing the rest on the floor beside the bed. "We invoke it and then... stuff, should happen."

Hermione nodded. "Doesn't sound too difficult," she said, leaning forward to look down at the parchment in Willow's hands, one of her hand lying lightly on Willow's thigh. "Do we chant together or individually?"

"We take an alternate line each. It's only four lines, so no big... you wanna start?"

Her eyes skimming the lines, Hermione smiled. "I think I can manage that. Is there any way that we would specifically have to do this? I'm not very familiar with the routines of wandless powers."

Raising her right hand, Willow lifted Hermione's hand with her other one and placed her lover's palm against hers. "We have to be in continual contact for it to work. No matter what happens, you can't let go..."

"Why?"

Willow's expression turned mischievous. "You'll miss out on the best part."

"Shall we start, then? I'm rather curious now."

Wetting her lips, Willow nodded. "You first."

Hermione drew a breath, then whispered the first line of the incantation. Willow said the second line, both of them trembling slightly as the power began to manifest around them both.

It took great effort on Hermione's part to stammer her way through the second line of the spell, the emotions already building in her to an intensity that was making her giddy with pleasure.

The moment that the last words left Willow's lips, both witches gasped, their fingers interlocking as the emotional boundaries between them were lowered and pure, undiluted love spilled between them.

Unfamiliar with the sheer force of the magic passing between them, Hermione was the first to fall back against the mattress, pupils dilated, her breath escaping in shaking pants, her face flushed.

Moments later, Willow flopped back, boneless and breathless.

Their fingers still intertwined, Hermione felt immensely proud of herself when she managed to twitch the tips in a gesture that she was still, in fact, conscious. 

"Wow..." was all she seemed capable of saying.

Willow smiled weakly. "Ditto..."

***

Bloodshot brown eyes wearily opened.

While uncertain where she was, the American Seer could tell that she was lying in a warm, soft bed, on top of the blankets. The room was filled with warm afternoon light and the ceiling was high above her.

"Hey sweetie," A green face swam into Cordelia's line of sight. "How you feelin'?"

Trying to smile weakly, the Seer swallowed hard and wet her lips with the tip of her tongue before answering, "My head..." One hand rose and touched her temple. "It felt like someone... something had been pushed into my head..."

"It was," Xander's voice said, shaking. One of his hands squeezed her other one, but couldn't find the energy to turn her head to look at him. "Glory... she drained someone else... word just came in that another victim just arrived at the wizard hospital. Giles and the Head Teacher-guy went to see what happened."

"Oh God..." she whispered, tears burning in her eyes. "I... I shoulda..."

The bed shifted as Xander at down beside her, to her left. "Are you okay, Cordy?"

"I should have been here... I should have been able to tell everyone right away... I... what if I was meant to tell the person who was meant to save them?" Her eyes bored into Xander's. "What if I'm failing as a Seer?"

"That'll never happen, Cordy," Xander held her shaking hands between his. "You couldn't have saved this guy. Word came in just after we got you back here and we don't even know where Glory is."

Cordelia closed her eyes. "I... why him? If there wasn't any chance that we could do anything...?"

"On the good side, sweetie," Lorne said gently. "At least you know that nothin' bad is happenin' in the school, if your vision is tellin' you about things that are goin' on outside. That has to be reassuring, right? We know Glory isn't here..."

"But that guy..."

"Cordy, if he's the worst thing happening in this part of the world, I think its kinda a good thing that he wasn't someone from the school," Xander said seriously. "I know it sounds mean to say it, but better them than us."

Reluctantly nodding, Cordelia struggled to sit up, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I hate it," she whispered, as Xander wrapped her up in his arms. "I-I see this stuff and I can't help... I hate it..."

"I know, baby," he murmured, stroking her tangled hair. "I know."

***

Walking through the corridors of St. Mungo's, Giles couldn't help feeling unnerved at the feel of the place. From somewhere in the depths of the hospital, he could hear the screams of some of the insane residents.

The whole place resembled the old-fashioned Victorian hospitals that used to be shown in television programmes, the bitter smell of disinfectant making his nostrils burn, the sterile whiteness chilling.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose as Dumbledore turned right, into the ward where Glory's victims had been sequestered, most of them bound on the beds by magic, to prevent them from wandering off.

At the far end of the room, a single figure was sitting on a bed, next to a mumbling individual, the very person they had come to see, and as they approached, Giles felt a jolt of familiarity go through him. 

"Narcissa?"

The blonde-haired witch was tenderly stroking the cheek of the young man who was lying on the bed, tears shining on her face. There was a nasty cut visible on her right temple and blood still caked her brow.

"Mrs Malfoy," Professor Dumbledore said softly, when they were less than three paces from the bed.

Turning, Narcissa Malfoy looked up at them. "Oh... you..." Her eyes moved past him to Giles. "R-Rupert? What are you doing here?"

"Same thing as Albus, I'm afraid, Narcissa," he replied, studying the woman he had known briefly at Hogwarts. She had been a few years below them and had been one of the Ravenclaw students that Ginger tutored. "This is your son?"

"My only child," she replied sadly, looking back at the boy. He was mumbling, his eyes darting this way and that. "He... Lucius let that bitch do this to him," the venom coating her words was acidic. 

"Lucius let her?" Dumbledore echoed in shock. "His own son?"

Narcissa's beautiful face tightened in distaste. "He has been having an affair with that American... thing for months now," she replied. "I-I knew she did things to drive people insane, but I assumed it was torture..."

"Lucius has been having an affair with Glory? Dear God..."

"I hoped he wouldn't get bored with me like everyone said, but he did... I don't understand why it had to be a lunatic like that..."

Giles and Dumbledore exchanged looks. 

"Narcissa," Dumbledore said softly. "Glory is no ordinary woman. She is, in fact, a Goddess from a Hell dimension and we believe that Lucius is aiding her in her quest to return to her own world."

"You mean she wasn't joking? No wonder Lucius found her appealing."

There was a moment of silence, then Giles spoke.

"Narcissa, I know this may not be a good time to broach the subject, but your son has been damaged by her. She's gathering an army and we are building a force to stand against her. Would you be willing to stand with us?"

Narcissa stroked her son's white cheek. He shuddered at the touch, whimpering and mumbling incoherently. Sighing, she shook her head and looked up at them. "I can't join you," she said quietly. "Lucius is my husband and I must stay with him."

"He betrayed you and your son!"

"I know," she said quietly. "But he is still my husband and commands my loyalty."

Giles' expression gave way to one of disbelief. "How can you return to him after what he has done to your son?" he demanded angrily, grabbing her shoulder. "We need your help... the information you can provide..."

"Rupert," Albus touched his shoulder, his expression stern. "I believe that Narcissa has her own reasons for making this decision." Giles didn't look entirely satisfied, but nodded. "Narcissa, you know that - should you require sanctuary or aid - the school is always open to you."

The witch nodded. "Thank you, Professor."

"Rupert, perhaps the mediwitches can provide us with some information."

With a last look at Narcissa, who ignored him in favour of her babbling son, Giles exhaled a sharp huff of air, then stalked after the Head Master, agitation still etched on his face.

***

"So you feeling calmer?"

Willow nodded at the Slayer, smiling a little. "Yeah. A whole lot," she replied with an affectionate look at her girlfriend. "Hermione made me feel better."

"In a way that I never imagined possible," Hermione agreed dryly, a hand resting on her lover's thigh, where they were was sitting on the low balustrade at the bottom of the stairs that led onto the grounds.

The trio were waiting for the delivery by portkey from America, the defences ready to drop at any second. The sun had just set over the horizon, the sky darkening, and they were expecting at least one new arrival at any moment.

Buffy shook her head. "You guys are terrible," she said, chuckling, while twirling an axe in her hands. "I thought Xander and Cordy being all with the smoochies was wiggy, but you two with the magic smoocies..."

"Jealous?" Willow grinned.

"Of you guys? Puh-lease!" Green and brown eyes looked at her skeptically and she rolled her eyes. "Okay, yeah, maybe a little. It's been a while since I had any smoochies of any kind."

"How long?" Hermione asked innocently.

"Almost a... hey! I'm not telling you that!" Buffy exclaimed, going more than a little pink at the memory of her last smoochies.

"Almost got her," Willow laughed, squeezing Hermione's hand. "And Buffy, you really have to find someone for the smoochie-making! It's not good that you're all on your own and the rest of us are all snuggly!"

"You don't need to tell me that," Buffy agreed dryly. "But I don't have time to deal with the whole issue of someone special at the moment. I mean, hello! Impending war, death and disaster..."

Resting her head on Willow's shoulder, Hermione hmm'd for a few moments. "I suppose we could arrange for you to have a nice, one-night-stand with Sirius before we all go out and prepare to die..."

"Hermione!"

"What? I can't have you fighting with all that pent up sexual tension. You might be.. well... rather... tense."

"Does she have a way with words or what?" Willow snickered, her cheek resting against the top of Hermione's head.

"No with the snuggles with Sirius!" Buffy said emphatically, wagging a finger at both of them in warning. "I mean, yeah, he's a nice guy and everything, but he's not my kind of guy."

"You mean in the fact that he's uberhot..."

"And rather sexy in his underwear..."

"You saw Sirius' underwear?"

"Um... I was staying with Harry one summer..."

"Guys! I don't care how hot you think he is! I'm not gonna have a thing with a guy who can become a great big freaky dog whenever he wants to!"

Willow and Hermione both stared at her, then seemed to go into a mutual visual place. "Oh... my... God..." Willow blurted out, her eyes widening. "I so did not need to think of that ever!"

"Seconded," Hermione agreed, her face twisted in a nauseous expression. "Thank you very much, Buffy. I'll never be able to look one of my friends in the eye again."

Buffy beamed at them. "I try," she said, whipping around sharply at a whoosh of air, axe raised.

A figure landed on the grass, panting and breathless. 

Another whoosh sounded and two more people practically landed on top of the first.

"Good L-Lord..." one of them stammered, struggling to sit up.

"Whatta rush!" another said.

Approaching, Buffy looked down at the heap of tangled arms and legs lying on the grass in front of her. "Hey, Wesley..." she said to the topmost figure, who looked up, his glasses on a little skewed. 

"B? What the hell just happened?" The bottom figure wriggled out from beneath the other two, staggering to her feet and looking around. Pale-faced and gaunt, the other Slayer blinked. "Where the hell is this?"

Buffy offered a stabilising hand, which the other Slayer accepted, swaying unsteadily on her feet. "Angel gave you the necklace?"

"Uh... yeah..."

"Just call it a bit of magic," Buffy said. "And you guys... Wesley... and...you."

"Gunn," the third person said, scrambling onto his feet. He was a tall, lean black man with a wary look in his eyes. "Charles Gunn. You must be that Slaygal that old Angel was sweet on." 

"That'd be me," Buffy agreed. "Wesley, Faith, you know Willow," She nodded to the red-haired witch behind her. Willow waggled her fingers. "Charles, this is Will. And all of you, the brown-haired lunatic beside her is her girlfriend, Hermione."

"Good goin' Red," Faith said, with a grin. "Got quite a package there. Natural glow about ya both too..."

Hermione beamed, while Willow went scarlet. "Thank you," the brown-haired witch said. "And," she motioned up towards the castle, the three new arrivals gaping up at it in astonishment. "Welcome to Hogwarts."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Notes: Well, yeesh! Had a heck of a lot to fit into that chapter. And, as if I didn't have enough characters to work with. Oy. I think this is the fourth longest chapter to date (longest being 47) Just a warning - no more chapters for a while - have to give priority to my dissertation for a while. It'll all be done in a month though, and then the writing extravaganza ensues!

And, coming... soonish in the next chapter of The Eighth Weasley - Buffy's DADA class is interrupted, the good guys start gathering arms, Glory and Narcissa have a nice 'chat' and more madness of my favourite kind! 


	52. The Good, The Bad And The Hairy

THE GOOD, THE BAD & THE HAIRY

Notes: This is another of those random chapters that came to me at the dead of night, which seemed like a really good idea. I almost forgot it by the time I woke up, but here it is - being typed frantically so I don't forget it again. (Just so you know how long it's been lying around for, today is 27th Oct. 2002)

New notes (10th March): EEP! When I wrote this chapter originally, I had no absolute idea where the story was going. Since then, everything has happened! And to think this was once considered a long chapter. 4000+ words, and now, it's considered a small chapter... that's the equivalent of a third of my dissertation. Now, though, Faith, Wes, Gunn, Lorne and everyone else has to be added. Look out people, methinks it's going to be a big un! Again!

_____________________________

A few days had passed since the new trio had arrived from America, the two men given rooms fairly close to Professor Summers, which was close enough to the main area of the school, yet out of the way enough not to draw too much attention.

Faith, though, had nervously asked Dumbledore if she could be in the same room as Buffy and Dawn, for self-assuring reasons, as well as to be there, in case anything should happen.

He had agreed and Buffy had accepted that it was probably the safest idea, the room being expanded to connect with the vacant neighbouring one, providing a bedroom that could have rivalled in size the entire Summers' house in Sunnydale.

Faith had stood by, staring in astonishment as the room simply seemed to grow in front of their eyes. Wesley and Gunn looked equally impressed when they were told what had happened, although both looked like they thought Faith still had a screw loose somewhere.

All three of the new arrivals had been utterly awed by the school and Buffy had been forced to drag them into one of the most boring rooms, to stop them staring, in order to make them pay attention, so she could explain what was going on in detail.

Back in Los Angeles, Angel had given them briefest of overviews and all of them had agreed to help, since the fate of the world rested on the situation. He, meanwhile, had gone to hunt some other allies down, leaving his people in her care.

They all wanted to help in the fight to save the world.

All right, Gunn claimed he had agreed because he was curious about the land that 'English' came from, to which Wesley had shaken his head and reminded the younger man that they were in Scotland, not England, and that mixing the two up would not go down well with the natives.

"I can't believe we want you guys on our side," Buffy had said, rubbing her forehead with her fingertips.

Faith had just laughed at them both. "You know boys, B," she had said with a knowing look in the direction of the blonde Slayer. "If it ain't about the screwin', it's about the fightin'. Come to think of it, you got weapons here?"

"We have a few, but I think that Professor Flitwick has offered to take you down to Diagon Alley, to the stores there. They have some specialist magical weapons stores and if you ask carefully..."

"We might be able to dig up some dirt on this blond bad boy of yours, right?"

It had been agreed that that was the plan.

As soon as the trio had settled in, getting familiar with the school, while trying to remain unnoticed for the most part, Flitwick had announced that he had booked a day off to take them shopping for suitable attire as well as weapons.

Unfortunately, he decided to cheerfully announce it to the High table at the top of his voice, during the evening meal, and the moment he mentioned 'attire', Buffy, Giles, Lorne and Hermione had choked on their pumpkin juice.

After all, Flitwick was the Professor known for the most eccentric wardrobe after the Head Master. 

In the middle of the High Table, Dumbledore seemed to be taking a long time to dab at his mouth with a napkin, his eyes crinkled with amusement, as the quartet at the far end tried to look like they hadn't just sprayed thick orange juice all over the table.

All of them had agreed it best that they warn Wesley, Gunn and Faith about the tiny teacher's intentions. 

It had reduced the dark Slayer to tears of hysterical laughter, when she was told that the teacher who wanted to take them clothes shopping liked codpieces and thought that Snape had a nice ass.

Faith had been hugely amused by Snape, when they had first met, on the evening of her arrival. Shortly after the pupils had returned to their dormitories, the trio were introduced to the full staff body. 

He had glared at both Slayers when Buffy introduced him as 'Snapey, sweetest guy you're ever gonna meet', which had made Faith smirk knowingly at him. When she had commented on his 'salty goodness' factor and 'lovin' them tall, dark and glarin'', he had made an incoherent sound in his throat and practically fled.

After the giggle-fit had passed, Buffy had laughingly chastised the other Slayer, who - while working for redemption for her crimes as a rogue Slayer - was still as open and blunt as she ever had been.

Although things were still tense between them, they were getting along and that was definitely something. Buffy even came to see the group off, as they waited to Portkey out, to London.

"Don't get in trouble," Buffy said sternly, standing on the lawn with Faith, while Flitwick was happily explaining the way a portkey worked to the fascinated Wesley and curious Gunn.

The other Slayer grinned at her, although it was hesitant. "You know me, B."

"Exactly," The blonde gave her a look, then smiled a little. "Take care, okay? And if you end up in a way creepy place called Knockturn Alley, don't stay there any longer than you have to. Flitwick says that they have some real good weapons stores there, but it's not the kinda place you wanna spend too much time in. Stay with him and don't lose the guys there either."

"Bad place?"

"Worst."

"Gotcha."

Squeezing the brunette's shoulder gratefully, Buffy didn't miss the surprised look on Faith's face at the gesture. "It's good to have you back with us, Faith," she said honestly. "We need you here."

"Hey, always glad to be useful," Faith replied with bravado, although her hesitant smile became a little more confident. "You keep them safe till we get back, right? I mean, I do kinda wanna have something left to protect..."

"I always do."

"Miss... er... Faith!" Flitwick called, waving her towards them. "You had best join us down here! We shall be departing in a moment!"

Faith nodded. "I'll see ya later, B, and I'll try and pick up somethin' nice for ya... a sword or somethin'..."

"Have fun."

The brunette jogged across the lawn to where Flitwick and the two other men were waiting, a plate held between them. Buffy stayed long enough to watch them vanish, then turned and walked back up to the castle.

***

"Ex-excuse me?"

Lazing on her belly on the bed, clad in a sheer satin nightshirt, the sheets rumpled around her, Glory looked up from the television - one of Luce's treats to her - to see Luce's wife standing in the doorway, glad in a green blouse and jet black skirt.

"Luce ain't here, sweets," she said.

"I-I know," the woman replied. Hardly surprising that she was nervous, considering she had witnessed her son have his sanity sucked out of him only a week earlier by the very person lying on the bed. "I wanted to speak to you."

Glory's brow wrinkled in confusion and she raised herself on her elbows to look at the woman. "To me?" she inquired. "You wanna speak... to me?"

"If... I mean, I don't want to trouble you."

Sitting up fully, Glory gestured her in. "Sure, sweets! Always glad to have another girl to talk to!" she exclaimed cheerfully, smoothing a patch on the bed. "C'mon! You come on in and talk to Glory."

"You won't... you know... drain my sanity?"

Glory made a dismissive gesture with a hand. "Not you, baby," she said. "That's one thing that cutie pie husband of yours made me promise. No brain suckage on the wife, even if I think I'm gonna go crazy. Still cares for ya, somewhere deep down."

The wife approached the bed and hesitantly sat on the edge. "Why bother with him?"

"With Luce?"

"Yes. I mean, there are many more wizards who are more powerful... why him?"

Glory shrugged, leaning forward to tuck a loose strand of the woman's hair behind her ear. Luce's wife visibly trembled, which Glory ignored. "He came to me," she said. "Said he wanted to help... wanted to get back at the Slayer for somethin'."

"The Slayer humiliated Draco," the woman's voice shook a little as she said it. "I don't think Lucius appreciated it."

Glory studied the woman. "Still kinda upset about your boy, huh?"

"He was my son."

"Didn't have too many brains, did he?" Glory couldn't help snickering at the memory of the look on the boy's face. "Told him not to piss off a Hell Goddess and the little bastard did it. Served him right."

"Had he known what you were..."

"I told him, didn't I? I warned him not to bug me, because when I get cranky, I'm really not nice. No one gets more than that from me and he pushed his luck and all the thoughts in his pretty little head zig-zagged away."

"I suppose," the woman said, her eyes down.

Glory gazed at her, then grinned. "You know what I feel like doin', puddin'?"

"Wh-what's that?"

Bouncing off the bed, the Goddess pushed her unruly hair back from her face and stretched. "I feel like gettin' all dressed up, goin' for a nice walk, maybe killin' a few bunnies, then leave Ben in the middle of the countryside in a skirt. He hates that!"

"Ben?" The wife didn't lift her head. There was a bored note in her voice, but it was undercut a tone that suggested she was trying to hide her curiousity. "Is... is he that friend of yours?"

Glory apparently didn't notice it, though and laughed. "Ben? A friend? Hon, if I had a choice, I woulda stomped on that bug a long time ago."

"Who is he?"

"He's me, baby," The blonde Goddess strode over to a wardrobe and hauled it open, not noticing Narcissa's head snap up, astonishment in her eyes. "I live in him, he lives in me, it's no big deal..." A thoughtful look crossed Glory's face. "It does sound kinda ick when I think about it."

"He's in you? How? I mean... it sounds rather odd..."

Leaning around the wardrobe door, Glory's eyes narrowed slightly. "Why all the questions, cutie?"

"I-I-I just don't understand..." the witch stammered, fidgeting awkwardly with the hem of her dark green blouse. "I mean, you look female to me... beautifully female if I may say so..."

"You may say so, sweetie," the Goddess replied, beaming at the witch. "And the Ben deal. It's a whole deal where he's the human host of my essence. He's meant to be in control, but the lil prick just ain't strong enough."

"Oh. You... you must be very powerful."

Glory pulled a face. "I'm way more powerful in my home dimension," she replied, withdrawing two dresses from the closet and looking them up and down. "Luce is helpin' me find my key, so I can get home."

"Your key?"

"Again with the questions, cutie patootie. You wanna make Glory cranky?"

Narcissa smiled weakly. "I-I just want to know if I can help in some way."

"Sure you can," Glory replied with a broad smile. Holding up the two dresses, she asked, "If I'm goin' for a roam, whaddya think? Blue or red?"

***

"Good morning, everyone." 

Buffy Summers swept into the Defence Against the Dark Arts class, her pupils already in their seats and eagerly awaiting their teacher. She was the youngest member of staff and had gained much popularity because of it.

"Good morning, Professor Summers!" the chorused words of the third years drew a chuckle from her.

Walking between the two rows of desks, she smiled around at the faces that greeted her, she reached her desk and swung up to sit on the edge of it, carefully avoiding the handful of apples that were being left for her on a regular basis.

As she had done, since she had received them, she was wearing heavy, midnight blue, outer robes over her muggle clothing. It was still bitterly cold compared to the weather she had been used to in California, so the thick robes had seemed a good idea, even though she still had no idea how she had come by them.

Wintery sunlight was streaming on over the class, all of whom were poised with their quills ready to start writing. 

While she saw it as a light-hearted way to start a lesson, it was still known that she often would begin a class with an anecdote and they were being collected up by the pupils to share and compare in their common rooms.

The stories were of demons and monsters and things that they hadn't believed in until Professor Summers had told them stories about such wild and exotic creatures, and her experiences with them.

Many of the pupils were still in awe of the fact that she had faced such creatures, although none of them - except the studious Leon Mzimba, a Gryffindor first year and Duncan Cameron, her sister's friend - were aware that she was actually the 'Slayer', who was mentioned only as a myth in their textbooks.

"All right," Crossing her legs, she laid her right hand on the upper knee, leaning back a little on her left hand. "I'm going to start today by telling you about my first encounter with a vampire today, as we're just about ready to start that part of the coursework. This is an area of speciality of mine, so Mr. Giles won't be required until we come to the spells that you can use to destroy them."

A hand rose at the back of the class. 

"Yes, Mark?" This was another reason she was liked. She used the first name, as opposed to surnames as so many of the teachers did.

"Professor, we...someone in your fifth year class...they said...they told us that you brought a vampire with you," A few muted whispers and nods rippled down the rows of desks. "Is it true?"

Buffy's lips lifted in a smile. "Well, since they've ruined that surprise for me, yes, I do have a vampire with me," Several of the teens gasped. "He's been implanted with a behavioural..." A frown crossed her face, trying to recall the technical term. "He has a muggle machine inside his head that stops him from hurting humans."

"But it wouldn't work in Hogwarts!"

A puzzled look crossed Buffy's face. "That's true..." she murmured, half to herself, a wondering look on her face, but she shook it off quickly and smiled at the class. Spike hadn't harmed any of them. 

He wouldn't. 

He was one of their group and his loyalty during the Drusilla incident had proved it. 

"So, any more questions before we get started?"

"Will you be bringing him here, Professor?" another pupil demanded eagerly.

The Slayer nodded. "Not right now, though," she added, raising a hand to lull the sounds of excitement that had echoed off the high ceiling. "Now, I'm going to tell you about the first time I saw a vampire. You have to know how to recognise them and what kills them."

"When will you be bringing him?"

Buffy glanced at the pig-tailed brunette in the front row. "He'll be coming to the class after I've given you a pop-test to make sure you know everything I have to teach you about vampires, which means you actually have to pay attention in this class."

A few muffled groans went up.

"That's the deal," she laughed, pushing herself off the desk and onto her feet. "You show me you actually listen to something I say and I bring a vicious, blood-sucking fiend into the classroom," A chuckle escaped her. "You know, in any normal school, that would be seen as a punishment...but anyway. On to the lesson."

Immediately an attentive silence fell, every pupil looking like they were on the edge of their seats as she began to speak.

"The first time I ever saw a vampire, I had no idea what I was doing..."

***

"I'm startin' to see what B meant about this place," Faith muttered to the tiny wizard in front of her, as they made their way down narrow, twisting passageways. 

Flitwick gave her a sympathetic nod, but kept his attention on the path, in case they miss the shop, which - like every other building in the alley - was grimy to the point of being unrecognisable, windows so dirty that they could barely be seen through.

They had just entered Knockturn Alley, specifically looking for an extremely high-class weapons shop, which was deep in the heart of the grim and grimy corner of the wizarding world.

Even though the buildings were the same height as those in Diagon Alley - where they had been forced to drag Wesley and Gunn away from every store window, the two men like kids in a toy store - the sunlight didn't seem to reach into the alleys.

In fact, above Knockturn Alley, it was almost as if there was a dark cloud blocking the daylight out, the filth and grime making Faith shudder. Her arms crossed over her chest, she rubbed her upper arms uncomfortably.

"You okay, kid?" Gunn asked in an undertone.

"Yeah," she replied, glancing around. "This place... it's wicked freaky."

"Gotta say I got the same vibe there," he agreed, placing a callused hand on her bony shoulder, which served the dual purpose of making her feel a little safer and him a little less likely to get lost.

Wesley was bringing up the rear, a tense expression on his face. He had never had any contact with the wizarding world before, although he knew of its existence, and - even though he was new to it - he knew Knockturn Alley was not a good place to be.

It was good, he realised, that they had acquired wizard-style clothing before entering, as they were receiving enough suspicious stares. Had they been in so-called muggle clothing, he had no doubts that they would have received a lot more than dirty looks.

"Ah! Here we are!"

It appeared that all of them heaved a collective sigh of relief as Flitwick gesture to a doorway and motioned them in, out of the gloomy street, into an even gloomier shop interior, lit only by a scant scatter of candles on the vacant spots on the walls.

"Holy shit..." Faith whispered in awe, staring around.

Every panelled wall of the shop, which looked a lot bigger inside than out, was lined with weapons of all shapes and forms, from cutlasses to crossbows, every one of which looked like it was in top class condition.

"How may I be of assistance?"

A tall, gangly man with a few wisps of black hair ringing a shining crown had just emerged through the curtain separating the back of the shop from the front, brushing his frayed, dark grey robes down.

He had a jovial face, with a broad smile, but his eyes were cold, shrewd.

"We are actually looking for a rather large quantity of weaponry," Flitwick piped up, causing the shop owner to lean forward and peer over the counter in confusion. "Is this all your stock?"

"This?" the keeper glanced around the walls. "These items are the samples of the most popular items that we have readily available. There's a lot more where all this came from, as well as rarer items, at a price."

"We're actually looking for some weapons that might have some kind of mystical heritage," Wesley added carefully. "We are... collectors of certain kinds of weaponry, you might say."

The cold amber eyes studied him. "I have a few artefacts," he replied, with a casual gesture to the back of the shop, behind the drapes. "Would you care to see some? Of course, only if you are actually interested in purchase..."

"Look, buddy, we said we wanted to buy and we weren't joking," Faith said, a touch of irritation in her voice. "Now would be good."

"Very well," With a gesture from the man's wand, a section of the counter opened up to allow them to pass through.

Entering the back room, Gunn swore under his breath, Faith nodding in agreement as they stared around the room that was more like an immense cavern, the roof soaring nearly twenty feet above them, filled to overflowing with arms.

"Now," Another flick of the wand brought an elaborate chest down to them, landing neatly on the floor at Wesley's feet. "Perhaps this would be of interest to you?"

The chest opened to reveal a massive hammer, which was about four feet in length from head to the tip of the handle. Writing was engraved on the head and as Wesley knelt to study it, Faith peered over his shoulder.

"Nice hammer," she commented. "Why's'it back here?"

"It's a rare piece, allegedly a troll hammer, taken when the troll was vanquished," the keeper replied. "Most trolls tend to use clubs, but on rare occasions, there is a brighter one among the species, although that isn't really saying much, and they use a hammer such as this."

"It is a genuine troll hammer, an old one," Wesley agreed, raising his eyes from the runes. "It belonged to someone called Olaf the Strong."

"He'd have to be strong to lift this item," the man said. "It weighs far too much for a normal..." His words trailed off into silence and Faith bent and - with one hand - hoisted the hammer up, weighing it in her palm. 

"How is it?" Gunn asked, trying not to grin at the stunned shop keeper's expression.

Tossing it from hand to hand, the Slayer experimentally swung it. "Not bad," she admitted. "Good balance... even weight..." Turning large brown eyes on Wesley, she asked, "Can I have the nice shiny hammer, Wes?"

"Troll hammers are reputed to be powerful in their own right, so I suppose..."

"Wicked cool! Thanks, Wes!" Faith replaced the hammer in the chest. "I'm gonna have a look around."

The former Watcher nodded, he, Flitwick and the shop keeper moving off to look at some cabinets that were lining the wall, filled with various ceremonial swords, while Faith and Gunn wandered around the immense room.

It was nearly twenty minutes later when Faith yelled, summoning the Watcher.

"What is it?" he asked, as he approached.

An elaborately-styled knife was held up in front of his face, less than a hand's span from the tip of his nose, so suddenly that he jumped back a step and almost landed on top of Flitwick, who squeaked in surprise.

"Oh, sorry!" The Slayer winced. 

Wesley made a dismissive gesture with a shaking hand, although the wash of sweat that had suddenly appeared on his face suggested he was far from all right, no doubt recalling the last time he had seen the Slayer, before their somewhat awkward reunion at Hogwarts.

On the run, determined to get herself killed, she had tortured the former Watcher to a point that he did honestly believe her to be past redemption, only to see her break down in tears in a mutual vampire acquaintance's arms a short while later.

Needless to say, the sight of her with any sharp implements near his face was enough to make him a little jumpy.

"I gotta say I'm likin' this one," she said turning the knife over in her hand, running her fingertips along the blade. "It's got good weight... nice feel to it... extension of the arm kinda thing... wicked beautiful too..."

Although not exactly one to admire weapons for their appearances, Wesley had to admit that the dagger was exquisitely made. 

The ornately-sculpted handle seemed to wrap around the girl's hand and wrist and it almost looked like the dagger was growing around the hand of the owner, delicate and deceptively fragile to look at.

Subtly, she also lifted up the tag which had 'Reserved' printed on it.

"May I?"

Faith handed him the blade and he studied it carefully, spotting very faintly engraved script running down the blade. "Ah! Ah!" he exclaimed excitedly, turning the blade into the light and nodding.

"Good 'ah' or bad...?" Faith inquired.

"That would be a good one," Gunn answered, grinning a little. "If it was bad, he woulda said 'Oh... oh... oh dear...'."

"He still does that, huh?"

"All the time."

"You're quite amusing," Wesley snorted. "I don't think." Turning back to face them, he gestured to the writing on the blade. "This is exactly what we've been looking for," he said, his back to the shopkeeper, so the man couldn't see the expression on his face. "It's a sacrificial knife... often used in blood-letting rituals."

Faith and Gunn exchanged looks. Behind Wesley, Flitwick was doing his best to distract the shopkeeper, so they could look over the weapon.

"Blood-letting... as in the kind we're lookin' at?" Gunn asked.

"Precisely!"

Taking the blade back from Wesley, Faith studied it. "And why," she rhetorised. "Do you think someone would want an itty bitty thing like this? Could it be to... perform a blood-letting ritual thing?"

Wesley's grim expression said it all.

"Hey! Buddy!" Waving the shopkeeper over, Faith held up the knife. "I want this."

"Ah! I'm afraid that particular weapon is not for sale."

Glancing at Wesley out of the corner of her eye, she saw him nod, as if he had expected that response. "Why not?" she asked. "Whose gonna buy it? I got money and I can bet I can top their price."

"I-I-I'm afraid I can't say."

Faith spun the knife in her hand in a way that made it more than obvious that she was familiar with such a weapon. "Can't?" she asked. "Or won't?"

"It's an associate, but I'm afraid we have a strict customer confidentiality clause..."

"Wes, tell the nice man I want the knife," she said calmly, holding the blade close in front of her eyes. "I don't care if someone else wants it. I want the pretty knife and I wanna know who else wanted it. Tell him what I do to people who don't tell me what I wanna know."

"Faith..."

"Wes, you know what I can do with sharp things..."

Wesley exhaled a breath. "I would tell her, if I were you."

"You can't do anything to me," the shopkeeper said, although the squeak in his voice made it clear that he was a mite scared. His bald spot was gleaming with sweat by the magical balls of light hovering like lamps by the ceiling.

"Wrong thing to say, buddy," Gunn winced, stepping backwards. "This little lady just got busted outta jail..."

Faith grinned and waggled her fingers at him.

"Wh-what for?"

"Usin' a knife like this," she replied. She appeared confident, but there was a tone in her voice that said - to her three companions - she was far from calm. "Didn't think that murder was that big a deal, really... but this real annoyin' guy told me I couldn't do anything to him..."

The shopkeeper back-stepped again, white in the face.

Faith's smile could have been described as homicidal. "I'll ask you nicely, again and then, I might start gettin' cranky... who wanted this knife and what were they gonna use it for?" 

***

His breath escaping in puffs of condensation, Hagrid heaved the sledge heaped with logs towards the castle. He knew he could have asked a teacher to use their wand, but he preferred it this way, making himself useful. 

In the same way, back outside the cabin, Xander was chopping more wood the muggle way. He was distracting himself, while his girlfriend, Cordelia, was helping the demon Divination teacher for lessons on what visions really were.

Both of them liked to think they were doing something helpful in some small and non-magical way. 

The house elves also preferred having him in particular bring the logs to their hidden store-pile, near the concealed entrance to the passages they used, which were spread through the whole school.

The ground was still icy, the powdery coating of frost crunching beneath his enormous black boots as he plodded towards the end of the building, where he knew that a house elf would be waiting.

They always knew when he would arrive.

Just as they always knew to have a large tankard of mulled mead to warm him up, before he headed back off across the grounds.

After he had made this delivery of the wood for the class and common room fires, he still had to do a check of the boundaries of the dark forest, because there had been whispers once again, via Aragog, that something was on the move there. Something that had been there for some time, but that was not native to the forest.

And, when Aragog made certain that he, Hagrid, knew about something, it was usually something dark.

It made the giant uneasy.

After all, the new Professor, Professor Summers, had arrived just when the whispers had started, and he couldn't help thinking that she might have been brought is as a defence against them, even though she didn't look strong enough to hit a flea.

However, when he had broached that subject with Professor Dumbledore, the last time Aragog had brought word to him, he had merely received a knowing, twinkling-eyed smile from the Head Master, as he was told that looks can be deceiving.

He was still grateful that he had his crossbow by his side, should he need it, though, comfortably swinging against his leg with every step that he took. A quiver of bolts were strapped to it, just in case.

Heaving the sled around the corner of the back of the castle, he smiled beneath his bear at the sight of Dobby standing at the hidden doorway, clad in a maroon sweater, a dark red tea-cosy pulled securely over his large, bat-like ears, his long, pencil-like nose red from the cold.

He was standing beside an oddly-coloured piece of wall, which stood as tall as he did, and probably the same width as it was in height, studying the bricks out of large, green, tennis-ball shaped eyes.

"Hullo, Dobby."

"Mr Hagrid sir!" He spun around in surprise and squeaked enthusiastically, "You is a little bit later than Dobby is expecting! But Dobby isn't minding! Dobby is thinking that it is looking beautifully out here today!" 

He reached out to the red brick wall beside him, which looked strangely out of place against the creamy stone of the rest of the wall. Tapping the middle brick twice, them running his fingers in a weaving pattern over the square of bricks, he stepped aside as the block of bricks turned into a square, copper hatch with a large, round handle in the middle of it.

"Thanks, Dobby," Hagrid grinned down at the house elf, who bowed appreciatively at the giant's gratitude, and hauled the hatch open to reveal the chute, down which he started heaving the large blocks of wood, easily. 

"If Dobby may ask, would you be liking a drink, Mr. Hagrid, sir?"

"If ye've got one, that would be crackin', Dobby."

Again, the elf bowed. "Right away, Mr Hagrid sir!"

Hagrid was still lugging chunks of wood into the chute, when he heard a growl from a distance, his head coming up instantly, eyes flicking around. After all, if there was a dangerous creature anywhere hereabouts, he wanted one!

His beetle-black gaze turned towards the Dark Forest and he uttered a loud and very coarse word, as he saw two large, hairy creatures erupting from the bushes, running towards the school at full speed on all-fours.

"Mr Hagrid, Sir..." Dobby emerged, only to see Hagrid running as quickly as he could towards the main halls of the school, leaving the house elf standing on the step with a large mug of mead in his hands and a confused look on his face.

***

"Good job, girl!"

Faith directed a shaky smile up at Gunn, who had just sat down next to her, a plate stacked with steaming food in his hands. "Next time we play good cop bad cop, someone else has gotta play bad cop," she said, twisting her hands together. "I-I can't do that again."

The quartet were sitting in the Leaky Cauldron, in one of the booths in a corner, for some privacy, as they ate before returning to the school.

"You did remarkably well," Wesley added, reaching over the table and enclosing her icy hands with one of his. "I know you wished to put that element of your life behind you, but you helped us find information that might have otherwise eluded us."

"Yeah," Faith stared at her plate of stew, poking at a lump of carrot with her fork, a serious expression on her thin face. "And I'm sure Dawnie's gonna be real pleased that we know when Glory and that blond son of a bitch are plannin' on killin' her."

Exhaling, Wesley squeezed her fingers again. "Faith, you have provided us with a time frame in which we can counteract their plans. Without your aid, we would be none the wiser."

"He's right!" Flitwick squeaked. "We have been on our guard for months and now, we at least know when it will all be over by."

"I'm not gonna let them hurt Dawnie, as long as I can help it," the dark-haired Slayer said with grim determination, her increasing protectiveness for Buffy's younger sister increasing by the day.

While she had not been under the spell that had introduced Dawn into the lives of her former friends, as soon as she came in contact with the teenager, memories started to develop rapidly, the spell placed by the monks a powerful one.

Faith had fitted in with Dawn's memories, so it was simply a case of the spell mixing and matching memories, until they both matched up and Faith was, once more, like a second big sister to the girl.

"I'm sure Professor Summers will be glad of all of your assistance," Flitwick said brightly, offering a bag of jelly babies around. He had cajoled Wesley into leaving The Leaky Cauldron and buying some muggle sweets in a nearby shop.

Dumbledore was, after all, partial to them, and they could hardly go near muggle London without taking something back for him. 

The suggestion of penis-shaped chocolates from Anya had been swept aside and a large bag of gummi bears were safely nestled in among the miniaturised armoury that they had tucked into a small box under the table.

"Think we got enough weapons, then?" Faith asked, accepting a jelly baby and popping it in her mouth, before returning her attention to the pile of savoury food in front of her.

"Lemme think about that one," Gunn said dryly. "You got four crossbows, one of 'em King-size, that big old troll hammer thing, the knife you got so attached to, three normal swords, two magical swords, six axes... did I forget anything?"

Chewing a mouthful of meat and swallowing, Faith pointed her fork at him and added, "You forgot the canon."

Snapping his fingers, Gunn tutted. "Damn," he sighed. "Always forget the canon."

Faith rolled her eyes, but couldn't help grinning.

***

"Usually the skin is very hard, so if you're going to stake..."

Buffy's lesson had been holding the attention of the class, all eyes flicking from her to the notes that were being made, until she stopped pacing across the front of the class, her eyes scanning around the room.

Slayer sense was tingling, which wasn't a good thing.

"Prof..." 

She raised her hand, silencing a question from one of the boys. Her brow creased, as she looked around the walls and windows of the room, then slowly lifted her gaze to the over-looking balcony, which none of the pupils were aware of.

It was there so that the Head Master could observe the pupils, without being seen, and without the pupils or teacher becoming uncomfortable.

Her lips parting in bewilderment, she stared up at the darkness behind the trellis that concealed the balcony, a pair of glittering eyes staring back at her, a heartbeat before something massive, black and hairy smashed through the elaborately carved trellis, sending stone showering all over the class, who shrieked as one.

"Under your desks! Everyone! NOW!" Buffy yelled, as the massive, furry creature landed heavily on the floor, rolling onto all fours, glittering black and red eyes fixed on the Slayer.

Tossing her long robes off, she flipped back over the desk, landing a kick on the creature's face as it charged her. Jerking her drawer out, she grabbed a silvery sword, which had been a starting gift from Dumbledore, the blade about the same length from her shoulder to fingertips, the whole thing - handle included - crafted from a single solid piece of steel, shaped like a scimitar.

Swinging the drawer up under her assailant's chin, smashing the beast's head up with it and knocking it back several paces, the wood exploding, she swung the blade, the sheath sliding off, as she took up a defensive stance.

Jumping up onto the desk, she managed to duck another charge from the demon-like creature, grappling and crashing to the stone floor with it, her body fully on top of it, its claws lashing out at her.

"Just what I need!" she moaned, bringing a hefty book down on its head off one of the closest shelves. "A big bad dog to ruin the one class that's going as planned..."

Buffy, while avoiding each swing of its huge paws, was trying to remember if she had seen anything like this before. The only thing that came close was a werewolf or a Hellhound and this thing was WAY bigger than either of those creatures.

Tossed across the room when the beast bucked up, the Slayer smashed - head first - into one of the shelves of books, the wood cracking like kindling as she dropped to the floor, books cascading around her.

"Professor!" one of the girls shrieked, the huge were-thing's head swinging towards the pupil.

Scrambling to her feet, a hand rising to her face to touch the trail of blood that was trailing ticklishly from down one nostril, Buffy's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Okay, fuzzy," she growled. "Now I'm mad."

Before the massive were-creature could reach the girl who had screamed out, it was tackled from behind and brought tumbling to the ground, Buffy's hand grabbing its filthy matt of black-brown fur on the top of it's skull and smashing its head against the floor.

It tossed her again, leaping around faster than she could scramble out of reach, and pinned her down on the floor, her right hand, the one holding onto the sword, pinned beneath a hairy limb. 

The...thing's long, wolf-like muzzle snapped at her, ragged, sharp teeth millimetres from her face, its breath smelling of rotting blood and decay. She could see shards of bone and scraps of blackened food caught between its fangs.

Thick ropes of stinking, yellowish drool splattering on her face, making her gag, her free hand gripping its throat, preventing it from ripping her face to shreds. Crushing a leg up, between her and it, she flexed the leg and sent the thing rolling.

The creature bellowed in fury and pain, as she was on her feet and landed on it's back again, managing to lock an arm around it's throat, jerking its head up with the intention of snapping it's neck.

That was when she heard a scream of terror from the back of the class and her head snapped around to see another one of the creatures, much larger than the one she was battling and it was advancing on her students.

The beast beneath her made the most of her moment of distraction, jerking around and slashing at her upper arm with one clawed paw, ripping through the sleeve of her black sweater and making her hiss in pain.

It didn't manage to dislodge her though.

Keeping a grip on it, she managed to twist her knife in her hand, under the beast's thick throat, and - with all the force she could muster - slammed her weight down on the creature's back, her knife thrusting up, through its throat, the tip almost striking her own chest as it emerged from the back of the beast's neck.

Black blood sprayed over her hands and across the floor, but she didn't waste time worrying about that as the attacker went limp and she scrambled to her feet in time to launch herself at the second one.

Landing fully on its back, one arm tight around its neck, she used what little weight she had to bring it crashing backwards to the floor, which unfortunately meant that it smashed down on her with its full weight.

"Lucian!" her voice was hoarse, but audible, the boy closest the door jerking upright from beneath the desk. "Get out! Get someone else! Another teacher! The rest of you, run! Get out! Now!" 

With a jerk of her body, as the boy obeyed and fled, she sent the thing tumbling, but it rolled with the momentum, a curse of pain escaping the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor as its claws tore into her back.

Several pupils lingered by the door, gaping in awe, as she kicked the huge thing across the room, shattering a window with it's back, but too big to fall through the frame. She was strong. No normal person could be that strong... 

Retrieving her blade from the other demon-thing rapidly, while the beast tried to regain its footing, the teacher flashed a frantic look towards the doorway, where the pupils were frozen, staring.

"What are you waiting for?" she bellowed. "RUN!"

***

Snape's expression was black when the door of the dungeon crashed open, one of the third year Hufflepuff's running into the room, where he was teaching first years, without as much as a by-your-leave.

The boy's frantic eyes darted around the dimly-lit classroom, illuminated only by the pale green torches on the brackets on the black walls and the flickering flames beneath the cauldrons.

"Professor Snape?" he called out, breathless.

"Brimstone, what is the meaning of this?" Emerging from the darkness at the back of the room, he demanded, his voice an ugly snarl.

Panting, his face white and cast with a green hue from the torches, Lucian Brimstone pointed towards the door. "You're closest, Sir...two monsters...Defence Against Dark Arts... Professor...fighting them...needs help..."

It took Snape a moment to register the words and by the time he understood, he was already running up the flight of stone stairs from the dungeon, throwing off his heavy outer robe, which kept tangling around his legs.

The Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom was three corridors away and two flights up from the dungeons, but he reached it in record time, passing the group of terrified pupils gathered together in the halls and stairs on his way.

Throwing the door open, his wand in hand, he felt the colour rush from his face at the sight of the tiny blonde Professor battling a roaring, hairy creature almost as large as, if not larger than Hagrid, which was rearing up on it's hind legs. 

Momentarily stunned, he watched her hefting a desk, as if it weighed nothing more than a twig, and hurling it halfway across the room at the beast, which lunged towards her, batting the desk aside, the force of it's blow shattering the ancient wood.

If it struck her, it would crush her instantly...

His wand snapped up and he yelled out "_Impedimenta_!"

The thing froze and the Slayer slammed a long, broad blade up into its chest cavity, black ichor gushing down her upraised arms. A rattling screech, like the sound of a thousand nails scraping on a blackboard, escaped the creature's throat. Yanking the blade free, she took a shaky step backwards as the...thing - there was no other word for it - crumpled at her feet.

Snape stared around the classroom in shock. It looked like a battle had taken place, several of the desks shattered, a few of the chairs too. One of the bookshelves lay in splinters, books and sheets of parchment scattered everywhere, black fluid staining the walls and floor.

It took him a moment to get over the destruction and look at the single figure left standing in the chaos, swaying on her feet.

"Summers?"

Hazel eyes rose to him. There was blood on her face, tricking from her nose, one of her eyes and the right side of her face swollen. Her black trousers were soaked with the oil-like substance that served as the creature's blood, her robes in tatters.

One hand was resting on the desk beside her, stabilising her, the other still loosely gripping the blade, her arms stained to the elbow with the same black goo, which was dripping from the blade and her hand in strands.

"Snapey..." her voice was hoarse. "Thanks."

Picking his way across the demolition sight, he stopped beside her, letting her use his arm as leverage to bring herself down to lean on the edge of the desk. She really did look like she was about to fall over.

"Have you ever seen anything like this before?" he asked, looking down at the two enormous bodies that were still oozing ichor all over the floor, amazed that she had managed to kill one, let alone both of them.

"Nope...they...they're bigger..." He glanced down at her, noticing that she was still staring at the things as well, her long-bladed knife slipping from her fingers and clattering on the stone floor. "I don't like 'em."

Something warm and wet brushed against the hand that was supporting her arm and he released his hold on her for a moment, bringing his hand around in front of him. It was stained red, blood glistening in the sunlight.

"Summers..." He stared at her. "You're bleeding."

She looked at his hand, the corners of her lips rising, although she looked whiter than she had a moment before. "Yeah. Scratched me across the back and arms," She shrugged, walking a little way around the desk, to look down at the first beast she had killed. "No biggie." 

"No...biggie...?"

Had it been any other witch, they would probably have fainted at the sight of their own blood, not to mention screaming in pain over wounds that would release so much blood in one go.

"Dammit, Summers..." He tried to make himself to yell at her, but could find no words, staring at the little blonde, unable to believe that she had fought the two huge beasts on the floor, was bleeding and badly wounded and yet, still remained the same, annoying little trollop. "Dammit!"

"I heal fast, Snapey," she said by way of explanation, then looked at him with an amused expression on her bloody face. "And my God! Snapey! Just look at you...you must feel almost naked..."

"Pardon?" He blinked, distracted from his irritation at her being so...her by, oh the surprise, the irritation of her being so very...her!

"Your robes," she said, her eyes twinkling at him, reminding him that - in order to save her bony hide - he had stripped off his outer robes, leaving him clad in his trousers, waistcoat and high-necked, uniform shirt, while running up the corridors, his lips tightening into a line.

"Miss Summers..."

"I know, I know, infuriating, annoying, agitating, blah, bl..." She seemed to flinch, her hand on the desk sliding a little on the wood. "Uh...Snapey..." Her voice sounded oddly shaky, as if worried. "When...when did it...get dark?"

"It is still daylight, Summers," he said with a sigh.

She turned in the direction of his voice, her expression startling him. He had never seen so much fear in one person's face. "No...not it isn't..." she whispered, reaching out towards him blindly with her other hand. "It's dark...Snapey, its dark..."

"Summers?" 

"Snapey..." She swayed dizzily on her feet, looking as if she was trying to take a step towards him, but never made it. Her eyes rolled up, a shudder rocketing through her body, and she started to fall.

Snape leapt over the fallen demon-beast in time to catch her before she hit the floor, her body boneless and limp in his arms.

Hissing a curse under his breath, he yanked up her torn sleeves, revealing her wounds to him, thick rimes of black lining the claw-marks that striped her upper arms and were no doubt matched by the ones across her back.

"Toxic..." he whispered in shock, startled by just how ugly and deep the wounds were. She had shrugged them off as if they were mere papercuts, when they had laid bare bone and muscle, blood still rippling from them. 

Quickly scooping the unconscious Slayer up in his arms, he ran back towards the half-open door of the classroom. She was as light as a feather, so thin and fragile against his chest.

Yanking it open, he found himself face-to-face with Dumbledore, backed by Hagrid with his crossbow, which Snape felt like saying was a bit redundant now. 

The Head Master took one look at the unconscious Professor and stepped aside quickly, his expression serious. "Madam Pomfrey is waiting for you," he said under his breath and Snape nodded.

Around them, the pupils - horrified looks on their faces at the sight of their torn-up Professor - parted before the Potions Master in an uncanny imitation of the Red Sea before Moses, and he broke into a run, the unconscious body of the blonde teacher held securely against his chest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN: Well. Practically doubled the chapter length (4400 words to 8600-ish). Have to love laundry day :P Up at 7am after being kept up ridiculously late by flatmates banging around and so sleepy all day, there's no way I can work, so fic is the only option. On the plus side, did manage to read the little introduction about Coriolanus and pretty much found my chapter subject matter in there. Yay.

Coming soon, in the next chapter of The Eighth Weasley - Snape battles to save Buffy's life, suspicions are raised regarding the reasons for the attacks (well duh, something bad is happening), Dawn finds herself in grave peril (I love that word - 'peril' - it sounds so...round) and more! 


	53. Here But Not

The Eighth Weasley - Chapter Fifty-Three

Here But Not

Notes: What can I say? I felt like being mean - poor widdle Buffy all hurt and beaten up and Snapey the one to save her. Be still my beating heart...*snickers* Snapey the action hero - something tells me it won't catch on. Also, we now have conflict - BIG juicy conflict - coming up. I have never loved writing a story as much as I love this one! And YAY! Skank-bucket Malfoy, my favourite boy is showing up soon!

****

New notes (Jan 11th)- Yes, this is another of those chapters that was written way back in October in the wee small hours. I simply adored the idea far too much and then it kind of...spiralled out of control after the previous chapter. One idea lead to a whole spawned set of the bloody things. Oh and I LOVE Madam Pomfrey! Madam Pomfrey kicks so much butt its silly! :D

****

More new notes (March 13th) - And now, to add Wes/Gunn/Faith to the mix. And to think, they only got added to the storyline just after the chapter where Angel, the Host and Cordy arrived. Actually, it was only meant to be Faith, but hey! Fun and safety in numbers, no?

________________________

"Poppy!"

Looking up from the potions she was arranging, Madam Pomfrey's eyes widened at the sight of Severus Snape storming into the medical wing, a small and bloody figure in his arms, blood dripping from the limp arms onto the floor.

"Good God!" the Matron gasped, getting up and motioning for him to bring the unconscious girl - she assumed it was one of the senior pupils - to one of the dozen beds that lined either side of the large, sun-filled room. "What happened?"

Bending to lay the wisp of a girl on the bed, Snape slid his arms out from beneath her body carefully. 

"Two demons of some kind managed to get into the Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom," he said grimly. "They clawed her back and arms with some superficial bruising to the face."

"And did they..." Madam Pomfrey's words trailed off as she saw the face of her patient. "Professor Summers?" She looked up when she heard the rustle of fabric and found Snape stripping off his thick waist-coat. "Severus?"

"She has been poisoned," his voice was clipped, sharp. "I'll need the usual tools and as little distraction as possible."

"But I'll have to..."

"Poppy, she heals fast. No time for questions."

The Matron studied him for a heartbeat, although - to Snape - it felt like a lot longer, then nodded, hurrying away. She knew him and his tone of voice so well and when he said something was important, she knew it was.

Within minutes, his analysis equipment that was kept in the medical wing, in case of emergencies such as this, was by his side, on the table that had been moved in beside the bed and he was taking scrapings of the black substances and the residues left by the claws, before giving the Matron permission to do what she could.

Placing a silencing charm over the whole infirmary as she moved in beside the bed where Summers lay, Madam Pomfrey took a moment to watch Snape as he began to work on the analysis, his precision and skill with potions astounding.

Turning her attention back to her patient, she grit her teeth at the sight of the raw, open wounds at the top of the girl's arms. Blood was already soaking into the white sheets beneath her at a steady pace.

Reaching for some of her cleansing cloths, she bound them over the wounds to let them do their work, carefully shifting the girl onto her side to see what condition her back was in.

The cleansing cloths were one of her preferred tools of her craft. 

They were made of a cloth-like substance that was absorbed into the skin gradually as it healed, the material breaking down to provide cleansing disinfectants and healing chemicals as well.

At least nine bloody furrows were ripped into her skin, visible through the torn scraps of her shirt, which Pomfrey used her wand to do away with. They were deep cuts, but the Matron - looking closely - could see where the tissues had already started to knit back together.

The most she could do for the girl was clean the wounds, before they healed and sealed the poison inside. 

Spreading more cleansing cloths over the wounds that seemed to cover almost every inch of the girl's back, she heard a faint moan from the young woman as the inbuilt healing and anti-biotic remedies soaked into her skin, the cloths fusing to the damaged areas of her back.

Placing a pillow of air beneath the girl, to prevent her from putting her weight on her back, Madam Pomfrey brought her back over, so she could check the wounds on her face, which were - as Snape had noted - superficial, but still nasty.

Using one of the many anti-swelling agents on the girl's right cheek and blackened eye, she gently sponged the drying blood off the girl's face, wondering if she should ask what had happened to the two attackers.

A brief glance at Snape, hunched over his potions equipment, suggested that would only be a good idea if she really wanted to know what it was like to have her head physically bitten off.

His eyes were entirely focused on what he was doing, his lips muttering soundlessly as he worked, his hands flying over the test-tubes, needles and droppers with a speed that seemed supernatural.

He would have an antidote within hours, no matter how complicated the poison, she knew, and she had done all that she could. The Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts was deeply unconscious now and there was nothing else she could do until Snape found the antidote, hopefully in time to save the young Professor's life.

She knew that, in spite the blindingly obvious enmity that the two shared, he would still not allow a member of the teaching faculty to die, even if he spent half his time directing death glares at her, when they were seen in the same room.

Pausing to brush a lock of blonde hair back from Summers' face, she used her wand to conjure the young Professor's sleepwear, leaving her hovering a couple of inches off the mattress, clad in loose pyjamas, under a crisp white sheet and cream blanket.

Making her way back around the bed, leaving Snape to his work, she exited the ward and had barely closed the doors behind her when a panic-stricken red head had crashed into her and was gripping at her arm.

"What happened?" the youngest Weasley demanded. Her voice was shrill with fear and panic, tears shining in her green eyes. "Where's Buffy? Is she all right? Where's Cranky? What's he doing to her?"

"Willow," a male voice from behind seemed to calm the flame-haired girl and she backed off a little. Giles, assistant to Summers, was standing there, his face rumpled with concern. "Madam Pomfrey?"

The Matron was suddenly aware of a rather large audience gathering.

Professor Dumbledore had just entered the wing and was flanked by Hagrid - who was looking paler than usual - and Professor Granger, who immediately ran forward and gathered the sobbing Willow in her arms.

The blonde-haired vampire, the former vengeance demon and the muggle boy were all there too, although the newest trio to arrive, Summers' sister, the green-skinned demon and the Seer were notably absent.

"Could you perhaps inform us of Professor Summers' condition?" the Head Master asked, his voice more troubled than usual, which was hardly surprising considering one of his members of staff had just been torn up in her own classroom. 

Since the attacks in the Great Hall, they had assumed that all of the demons that Glory had concealed about the school had been taken care of, but apparently that had not been the case.

"She's presently unconscious," the Matron answered. "Professor Snape believes her to have been poisoned by either some secretion on the claws or in the blood of the creatures that attacked her."

"And you left creepy evil guy in there with her?" the Muggle youth said angrily. "If anyone is gonna poison her, it'll be him."

"Xander," Giles was the one that spoke, in a calm, but stern voice that succeeded in shutting the muggle boy up before Madam Pomfrey could even consider starting to lecture at him.

"Professor Snape is an expert with poisons," The boy made a face that suggested he wasn't surprised and Pomfrey actually felt compelled to glare at him. "And with the antidotes, so I suggest that you remain silent and allow myself and my colleagues to treat our patients as we see fit."

Dumbledore stepped to the fore of the group. 

"Poppy, is she comfortable?"

"As comfortable as she can be at present, Head Master," the Matron answered with a sour look at the muggle. "If I may ask, what happened? Severus wasn't particularly informative. He didn't go further than saying that two demons had somehow gained access to the class. What happened? Where are they now?"

"They're dead," Hagrid answered for Dumbledore. The look on his face that said he had seen something that he was having trouble believing. "Yer patient there killed 'em both. An' with only a sword an' one spell from Snape."

"But surely they were too big for her to be able..." Madam Pomfrey's face twisted in confusion. "The claws...the creatures had to be at least eight...ten feet..." The Head Master nodded slowly. "And she...she killed them both?"

"Well well, the witch is catching on," the vampire drawled from the shadows. "Is it so hard to imagine a tiny bint like that could kick something the size of this bloody great git," He nodded to Hagrid. "across the room, if she wanted to?"

"Hey now..." Hagrid puffed up, looking offended.

"Statement of fact, you wanker," the vampire wasn't intimidated by the giant in the slightest. "And keeper-of-grounds, unless I'm mistaken, it was your job to keep the grounds safe, specifically to make sure that things like that _didn't_ get in. How is the Slayer meant to protect..." 

"Spike!" 

"What?"

The former demon, muggle and red-haired witch all groaned, while Hagrid looked even more indignant and started mumbling incoherently about how he didn't know everything that was in the Dark Forest. 

Professor Dumbledore, though, was looking oddly tired and raised the fingertips of his right hand to touch his forehead in a soothing massage, as the squabbling voices rose in intensity and volume.

"Slayer?" Madam Pomfrey whispered. "You...you brought me a Slayer and you didn't think I ought to know?"

"Yeah, well there's a whole weird deal with her having a secret identity," the eighth Weasley answered, from her place in Granger's arms. "Kind makes it hard to go around telling everyone."

"Hey! People! A hand here!" Shuffling footsteps from the stairs leading down from the medical wing made Xander dash over, a curse escaping him as he darted down the stairs, to Lorne. 

"What happened?"

Lorne and Xander reappeared over the lip of the stairs, the unconscious Cordelia carried tenderly in Xander's arms, a nasty looking cut on her temple streaking her hair with blood.

"The usual. Visionorama," the demon replied grimly. "She hit her head on the corner of a table when she fell. We gotta get someone to talk to the PTB about this. It can't be good for her."

"Get her into the ward," Pomfrey ordered briskly, grappling Xander's upper arm and dragging him into the room.

"Did she say what she saw?"

Lorne shook his head in a negative. "She only got one sound out before she fell," he said apologetically. "She didn't even have time to scream. All I could make out was 'room' and then she was on the floor."

"Room?" Xander emerged from the ward, his expression dark. "Nothing else?"

"What does that mean?" Willow asked. "I mean room. It could be anywhere and if we don't know where it is, how are we meant to get anywhere? Is it your room or our room or a room not in the school or..."

"Witch, will you shut up for a mo? I think I've just worked out what's going on around here," Spike came forward, a concerned look on his face, touching Giles' shoulder. "Watcher, where's the lil bit?"

"The lil..." the older man's face drained of colour. "Good Lord!" 

He swung around and - at least it appeared to Professor Dumbledore - everyone in his group knew instantly, from the look on his face, that something was amiss, backs straightening, expressions of anxiety replaced with other emotions.

"Lorne! Watch Cordy for me!" Xander yelled over his shoulder to the green demon, already running to the stairs, the two witches, the vampire, the former demon and the Watcher all following him rapidly.

"Mr. Giles?"

"A distraction, Professor!" Giles called back. "They were a distraction!"

***

"Hey, D!"

"Faith!" Dawn rolled into a sitting position on the windowsill, where she had been reading, staring at the dark-haired slayer in amusement as she pulled the painting shut behind her. "So... uh... Flitwick got you some new clothes, huh?"

"Don't even go there, little sister," Faith replied with a shudder, looking down at the bright pink blouse and baby-blue trousers that the tiny teacher had forced her to don, by sheer force of his stubborn glare. 

She, Wesley and Gunn had assumed that he was joking when he said he was taking them clothes shopping, after the weapons hunt. 

They had still assumed - with a touch of desperate panic - that he was joking when he dragged them into a shop called Wiz Chic. 

They had assumed - and prayed wildly to any deity who would deign to answer - that he was joking until he had handed each of them the most absurd combinations of clothing they had ever seen and insisted they don them.

He wasn't joking.

So, Faith had been kitted out in pastels, pinks and blues. 

However, she had been the to get off lightly. Gunn had been so mortified by his new look that she didn't blame him for going into hiding as soon as they got back. Wesley, though, looked strangely natural in black lace and scarlet.

Last she had seen of him, Wes was being chased down the corridor by Flitwick who was trying to convince him to wear the matching shoes, which - unfortunately for Wes - happened to be stilettos. 

Yeah, she got lucky with plain old pinks and blues. 

Fortunately, though, voluminous black robes hung over them, concealing the very embarrassing clothing for the most part.

Sitting in the sunlight, pulling up her legs to sit in the lotus position on the sill, Dawn leaned on her feet, grinning. "Your regular clothes are on your bed. I figured you'd wanna get them back on..."

"Dawnie, you are an angel," Faith sighed with relief at the sight of her familiar black trousers and dark vest. Peeling the robes off, she tore off the pink blouse and pulled on her own clothing. "God, that feels so much better..."

Cocking her head, Dawn asked, "You get any weapony things?"

"Just a few. We put 'em in one of the rooms downstairs, outta the way. Gunn and Wes are gonna test everythin' before B and me get to lay hands on 'em," Faith replied, pulling her hair free, shaking it out behind her. "And Wes let me get a wicked cool troll hammer. It's way powerful, he said. And a canon!"

"Neat! Can I...?"

Faith gave her a look. "Dawnie, you know B doesn't like you usin' her weapons."

"You're no fun," Dawn said petulantly, sticking her tongue out.

"You want me to come over there and make you regret sayin' that?" Faith gave her a slow, dangerous grin. The teenager uncurled rapidly from her sitting position, panic in her eyes. "Well, D? You want me to prove ya wrong?"

"Kinda no!"

Faith's eyes glimmered with mirth. "You think you can outrun me, D? I know the room's big, but you honestly think you can outrun a Slayer?"

"Faith!"

Squealing, Dawn dodged under Faith's arm, as the dark-haired Slayer charged at her, pelting across the room and running across her sister's neatly-made bed to evade Faith's clutches.

"B is so gonna kill you!"

Dawn shrieked, bouncing out of Faith's grasp again. "I'm gonna blame you!"

"You wouldn't dare, kid!"

"Wanna bet? FAITH!"

Pinned down by the Slayer, Dawn squirmed futilely, Faith smirking at her as she started tickling the younger girl. "You were sayin' somethin', D?" she asked with mock-innocence, her fingers dancing across Dawn's ribs. 

"Faith! Stoppit! Stoppit!"

"Stop what? This?"

"Yes! That!"

"You want me to stop that?"

"YES!"

"You don't like that? Or that?"

Gasping for breath, shaking with hysterical giggles, Dawn batted futilely at Faith's arms. "Off..." she gasped, tears of laughter rolling down her cheeks. "Get off! I'm so siccing Buffy on you!"

"See me tremblin' with fear, D," Faith laughed, swinging off the teen to sit on the floor, her eyes dancing.

"You are so mean!"

"I try, D."

They exchanged grins, getting back to their feet. Dawn dusted herself down.

"Dawnie?" a young male voice called through the large painting that served as a door. "Are you in there?"

Faith had crossed the floor like a panther, a knife materialising in her hand, as she approached the painting. She glanced at Dawn, asking in a lowered voice, "Friend of yours, D?"

"Who is it?" Dawn asked.

"Just me," the voice replied, the accent identifying the owner as Duncan, although he seemed to be talking in a more formal tone than usual, which struck Dawn as slightly odd. "Can I come in for a wee while?" 

"Don't you have classes?"

"Not right now, no."

Dawn frowned, shrugging at Faith. "I guess," she replied, approaching the painting, where Faith still stood.

The older girl gave the painting a quick push and it instantly swung open to reveal Duncan standing there, but he made no move to enter the room, his expression placid and serene.

"Duncan?" Dawn took a step forward. "Duncan, you okay?"

It looked like he was pushed aside. "He'll be fine momentarily," a new voice said, before a black wand appeared in a gloved hand and a flash of blinding light followed the rapidly spoken words: "_Petrificus totallus_!"

"D!" Faith leapt in front of the younger girl, the blast of light splashing over her. She crashed to the floor, her body rigid, as a tall, expensively-dressed man with white-blonde hair and a pointed face leaned in the doorway, smiling icily at Dawn. 

Blue eyes widened, as she realised just who she was seeing. "Oh my God..."

"As good a choice of words as any," Lucius Malfoy said coolly, grabbing her arms and jerking her to him. She stumbled, her foot catching on the inert form of Duncan, sprawled on the floor at their feet.

His eyes were half-open, blood running from an open wound on his brow.

"Omigod... Duncan..."

"Yes," Malfoy murmured. "The little fool tried to fight both me and my spell. I'm afraid I had to pacify him and a blow to the head seemed the easiest way."

"Release her!"

"GILES!" the girl shrieked and tried to run.

Malfoy's brow rose and he turned in the direction of the voice, Dawn pulled in front of him as a shield. 

"Rupert Giles," he murmured, a surprised tone in his voice. "It's been a long time..."

"Not long enough, Malfoy." 

Dawn could see Giles standing in a patch of evening sunlight, which was flooding in through one of the tall windows. He looked furious. She had never seen him look so angry. His wand was in his hand and he was backed up by Anya and Hermione with their wands, Willow with a ball of electricity crackling between her hands, Spike in vampy mode and Xander, fists balled.

"Need the little children to fight your battles for you, eh?"

Giles' eyes flashed green fire, his knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip on his wand. "I kicked your arse when we were at school, Malfoy, I could do it again," He took a step forward and Dawn gagged as a hand locked around her throat.

"Come closer and I don't think you'll like what happens, Rupert."

"Harm a hair on her head and I don't think _you_ are going to like what happens, Lucius," The Watcher had nothing vaguely watcher-y about him now. If Dawn hadn't known he was on her side, she would have been terrified by the cold, hard anger radiating from him. "Especially when her sister regains consciousness."

"Ah, the Slayer," The man holding Dawn's throat laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound. "You mean _if_ she regains consciousness, don't you? After all, we have all heard how much Severus despises her. Do you honestly think he will try to save her?"

"Lucius, if you want to keep that badly-dressed body of yours intact, I would advise you to let Dawn go," Giles took another step forward, pausing when Dawn gasped, lifted onto her toes, the hand at her throat gripping tight.

Willow edged closer to Giles. "I could..." she whispered something, the ball of light crackling in front of her. Her hair seemed to be rising to ripple around her head in an unseen breeze and, although she couldn't be sure, Dawn was sure Willow's eyes had gotten darker. 

Giles shook his head, nodding towards Dawn, his expression dark and raging.

"Gi-"

"Shut up, girl," Malfoy hissed in her ear. "You and I are taking a little trip..." A hand plunged into one of his pockets, withdrawing a long, thin necklace, which he hung around her neck, keeping it gripped in his fist. "Say goodbye, little girl."

Terrified blue eyes looked towards the group in front of them, a second before Dawn felt like something had hooked right beneath her belly, yanking her off her feet and into a whirling sweep of colour.

In the distance, she could hear shouting, then everything went dark.

***

"I'm going to bloody well kill him!" Spike bellowed furiously, smashing his fists through one of the oak panels on the wall of the hall. "The bloody noncing wanker with his froofy hair and magic necklace!"

Giles, however, didn't say anything to counter the vampire's raging. He sank against the wall, staring at the spot where Dawn and Malfoy had vanished, the necklace a portkey, no doubt.

How he had made it function within the protective boundaries of the school, he could not understand, although Malfoy's known connection to Glory...

Hermione raced forward, kneeling down beside Duncan and checking him over, the boy still unconscious. Her eyes darted through the doorway and she saw Faith there, raising her wand.

"_Finite incantatum_!" she cried out, the Slayer erupting from the floor, panting, her eyes flashing with dangerous fire.

"Where the hell is he?" she demanded, then seemed to notice the rest of the group outside of the door. "Aw, shit..."

"Giles, where...how?" Xander looked confused and furious.

"He must have used it to get in here," the wizard was whispering to himself, as if he could not believe what he had seen. "He used it to get here...after the demons...he sent the demons..." His voice was shaking. "He's got Dawn..."

"They got her? That bastard got D?"

Hermione nodded up at the Slayer. "It... it appears that way."

"I...I didn't think..." Willow said, shaking her head as the ball of flaming light in front of her dispersed, a trickle of blood running - unnoticed - from one nostril. "I should have poofed him...I could have..."

Giles shook his head. "We can't risk it... you could have hit Dawn," he said, looking up at her, eyes widening. "Good lord! Willow! You're bleeding!"

"Willow!" Hermione exclaimed. "You... you did it again!"

The red head waved Giles away. "It's no big," she replied, blinking hard and trying to smile down at her lover. "Just happens when I get all hyped up with the mojo and then can't do anything..." 

Her words were belied when she swayed unsteadily, close to falling, and Giles quickly stood, steadying her with an arm around her waist. "We had better get you to Madam Pomfrey, Willow," he said seriously.

"No... no, I'm good..." she mumbled, before sinking against him. Giles swore under his breath, scooping the young witch up.

"And we...we should go and tell Albus," Anya said. She was pale and looked shaken. "I don't think that the man with the white hair wants Dawn for a good reason and Albus... he will know what to do...he always knows what to do."

"Yes..." Giles nodded. "Yes, that would be a good idea... can one of you bring Duncan along?"

"The kid? But he was the one who brought big bad and blond right to the room and got D to open the door!" Faith exclaimed in protest.

Supporting Duncan's head, her eyes on her girlfriend, Hermione shook her head. "I think he was under a spell, Faith," she said urgently. "We have to get him to the medical wing now!"

Nodding, although looking deeply sceptical, Faith lifted the boy up, his body limp and boneless in her arms. "Okay, people," she said, marching briskly forward. "You gonna fill me in on just why the hell B ain't here and how some freak with bad hair and a stick stole D?"

Somehow, in spite of the disbelief and shock, they managed to stir themselves to move, making their way through the corridors, ignoring all calls from the pupils about the condition of Professor Summers.

They reached the medical wing to find Dumbledore waiting there.

Waiting until Willow and Duncan had also been laid down in the wing, Madam Pomfrey fluttering about her, muttering rude things about people getting themselves hurt in the most ridiculous ways at the same time, Dumbledore stood to one side. 

As the door closed, leaving Pomfrey to her patients and Hermione pacing anxiously just outside the door, the Head Master looked at Giles.

"He took her, didn't he?" The wizard's voice was resigned, as if he had somehow expected this all along.

"What are we gonna do?" Xander demanded. He was pacing impatiently. "I mean, we can't just let them keep Dawnie...we have to go and get her back...and if Buffy doesn't..." He trailed off with a vicious look at the door of the Ward.

"Xander!" Giles' voice was sharp and hard. 

The boy glared at him. 

"Look, white-haired guy is the bad guy, but what if he's right about creepy evil black-wearing guy?" he demanded hotly, his cheeks scarlet. "What if he isn't trying to save her?"

"Don't you DARE say such a thing about Severus!" Giles' voice rose to a roar.

All eyes went to him, stunned.

Only on very rare occasions was Giles ever angry and on those occasions, he still seldom raised his voice.

He looked wild with rage, his face darkening to a deep shade of red, his eyes blazing at Xander. His hands were systematically clenching into fists by his side and he looked like he really wanted to hit the boy and HARD. 

"Now I know why B never pissed him off," Faith muttered, giving him an impressed look.

Stalking towards the startled young man, Giles looked so imposing and terrifying that the youth actually backed up until he collided with the wall behind him, the Watcher looming over him, his voice sinking to a low, dangerous snarl.

"That boy is a genius with potions and he saves anyone he can," One hand came up and silenced a protest Xander had opened his mouth to make. "No matter if he likes them or not. He only is the way he is because people like you treated him that way and he came to expect it, so he assumed the role people placed him in!"

"Wow..." Anya mumbled. She was standing alongside Dumbledore, holding the old wizard's arm. "I knew Giles liked the strange, lurking dark man, but I didn't know he liked him that much. He doesn't scare people like that unless he really likes someone and usually that someone is only Buffy."

Giles was still glaring down at Xander, who looked like he was feeling less than two inches tall. 

"Yes, Anya, I like Severus," the older man said, his voice calming but still shaking with anger. "I like Severus very much. He is like a younger brother to me and I get very tired of stupid little arses like this...muggle judging him."

"Hey!"

"Don't start, Xander. You can't possibly win this."

"But..."

Hermione interceded, squeezing between them and pressing a hand against Xander's chest. "Xander, Giles is right. Snape...he's frightening and intimidating, but he knows what he's doing. Buffy's in the best possible hands."

Xander looked like he wanted to argue, but Hermione shook her head, her eyes filled with tears of concern for her girlfriend. "I... I guess he's probably all right," he reluctantly said. "What about you?"

"Scared," Hermione admitted in a squeak and Xander gave her a half-smile, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"Will'll be fine," he said. "She always is. Like Buffy."

"Has there been any word?" Giles swung around to Dumbledore, who shook his head sadly. "Oh..." The Watcher sighed. "I suppose we should leave him to get on with it. He'll let us know if anything happens."

"That is probably the wisest course of action," Dumbledore agreed heavily, patting Anya's hand when she made a sound that suggested she was about to burst into tears of hysteria. "We ought to go to my office and make arrangements..."

"Want for me to go and get Wes and Gunn?" Faith asked, shifting awkwardly. "I mean, they're gonna wanna know about this..."

"Yes..." Taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose, Giles nodded. "I-I think that would be a good idea, Faith. Be as quick as you can." The Slayer nodded and darted off. "Xander?"

"I'll come along, but I wanna get back to Cordy soon."

Dumbledore nodded. "I am most certainly against any procrastination, regarding the urgency of action. This meeting should only take a short while, then you will be free to return here at once."

"Will...will you give us some chocolate?" Anya asked plaintively, looking up at him, worried. "I think I need some."

"I think I may be able to provide that service, Miss Emerson," Arm-in-arm with the former Vengeance demon, Professor Dumbledore lead the sombre little out of the medical wing and towards his office.

***

"You big jerk!" 

Standing on the opposite side of the bars, Lucius Malfoy smirked at his captive, his arms crossed over his chest. She was contained inside a cell in his cellar and she was gripping the bars angrily.

The walls around her were dull and spotted with mould here and there. There were no windows, the only light coming from a flaming torch which hung in a bracket on the wall behind him.

"Miss Summers, you must understand that I only brought you here for the good of...well," He paused with chuckle that sounded evil and humourless. "Of me, but I'm sure you understand." 

"My sister is _so_ gonna kick your ass! You hurt Duncan and Faith and she is gonna be so pissed when she gets you!"

"You think I was joking about her being in the medical wing, Miss Summers?" he laughed again, softly. Coldly. "I'm afraid that was no fabrication. We sent some pets to keep your sister busy and they just happened to excrete poison. Your sister is currently at the mercy of Professor Snape." 

"He won't let her die..." Dawn whispered, more to convince herself, her voice rising with her growing anger. "She'll be fine and then she'll come and kick your ass!"

"You honestly believe that dear Severus, an old friend from my schooldays, is going to save your sister's life?" The man's lip curled, his face shadowed and even more frightening than it had been when she stepped out into the hall. 

Dawn whimpered. 

"You're lying..."

"I would do no such thing," Malfoy chuckled. "After all, the truth is so much more entertaining," He stepped back from the cell when Dawn released a wild scream, lashing out through the bars and almost striking him. "Such a temper..." He tutted seriously. "I hope you'll behave better when Glory arrives, although I doubt your behaviour will make a difference as you are really little more than an expendable bargaining chip."

"G-Glory?" Dawn shrank back.

"You know her, I believe. She had such an attachment to your sister...and the key your beloved sister stole."

Tears welled rapidly in Dawn's eyes. "Don't do this...please...she'll kill you...you don't know what she's like..."

Malfoy's smirked intensified. 

"I beg to differ, infant," he murmured. "I know very well what she is like. On an intimate level."

Dawn's fear was momentarily replaced by disgust. 

Surely he wasn't saying that he had...

His smirk spoke measures.

"EW!" she yelled, pointing at him, her face twisted in distaste. "Ew! You... her... EW! That is the most disgusting thing I've ever heard!" Malfoy's brow arched slightly as she flapped her hands, pulling a face. "Ewwww! You are _so_ gross!"

"I would say that you ought to wait until you have experienced it, when you are older, but..." His smirk was replaced with a cold, deadly, snake-like smile. "You won't have a chance."

Dawn was staring at him. 

"Buffy's gonna get you," she whispered. "She doesn't like it when people talk to me like that."

"What part of her dying in a short while do you simply not understand?" Malfoy sighed. He was starting to sound a little bored, as if the game was losing it's fun. "She is in Snape's hands and they loathe each other."

Dawn looked at him sharply. 

"Wh-what?"

"She and Snape deplore each other."

A look of revelation crossed the girl's face and she nodded slowly. Turning, she blindly walked over to the low step that ran along the back wall to sit down on the cold stone, resting her hands on her knees. 

"Yeah," she said, so quietly he could barely hear her. "They really hate each other."

However, when Malfoy turned to leave dungeon, he could have sworn that the girl had a triumphant grin on her face.

***

"We have to assess how bad this situation is," Giles was standing at the head of the group, all eyes on him. 

In Dumbledore's office, chairs had been conjured out of thin air for them, while they discussed what could be done, all of their group present. Hermione and Xander were sitting next to one another for reassurance, in the absence of their respective partners.

"They got D and B's in a coma," Faith growled, slapping the blade of a knife against her palm. "I'd say things are pretty damn bad, Giles."

The watcher gave her a half-reproving, half-understanding look. "Yes, we know that the fact they have captured Dawn is definitely not good," he agreed. "But we do not yet know if they are aware of her being the key."

"I don't think they do," Hermione volunteered quietly, raising her eyes from her folded hands, which were squeezed between her knees. "They only knew Buffy was protecting it. How would they find out it was her?"

"That's a good point," Xander agreed. "I mean, we didn't know until Buffy did that spelly thing and we got those books from that magic-shop place."

"Books? What books are these?" Wesley sat up in his seat, a concerned expression on his face. He had managed to escape the clutches of Flitwick and was back in his more comfortable shirt and trousers combination.

"I-I'm not sure who wrote them, but they told us what Dawnie was and where she came from," Xander said. "But I think...what happened to them?"

Spike raised a hand. "Taken care of," he replied, from the shadows, where he was leaning against the wall. "Thought I'd protect Nibbles' best interests and accidentally dropped a fag on them. They sorta got a bit... burnt."

A weary half-smile crossed Giles' face. "Thank you, Spike. Those books could have proved a great problem."

"S'nothing," Spike shrugged, returning the half-smile as he lit up a cigarette, gripping it between black-nail-polished fingers. "An occasional bit of vandalism and destruction of property is always fun."

"So with the books gone, they won't find out about her from them," Hermione said with a sigh of relief. "Is there any other way they would be able to tell that Dawnie was the key?"

"Insane people can see her for what she really is," Giles replied grimly, removing his glasses and polishing them. "Which means if Glory is running low on power when she sees Dawn, she may well recognise her."

"What are the chances of this happenin'?" Gunn asked. "And if she does recognise the kid, will she do the blood-lettin' thing right away?"

Rubbing his temples with thumb and index finger of his right hand, his glasses dangling from his fingers, Giles frowned. "There's every chance that she will be recognised, but I doubt they would do the blood-letting immediately. Blood-letting rituals tend to be based a good deal on the alignment of the stars."

"The guy in the weapon store told us when the knife thing was gonna be needed!" Faith exclaimed. "We got until late in May or early in June, cause that's when the ritual was meant to be."

"That's definitely very reassuring," Hermione said, rubbing her hands together and nodding. "And if I'm to make a wild guess, I would say that Malfoy would have taken her to his home."

"Which is?" Faith demanded.

"Er..."

"Masked?" Giles asked.

"More than likely, as well as unplottable," she acknowledged. 

Faith looked from one to the other. "Well this is just five by five," she muttered darkly. "I'm sittin' here, lookin' to beat the hell outta a guy for takin' my little sister and you guys don't know where his house is."

The cold, sinister smile that spread on Giles face was actually frightening. "No, we don't yet," he agreed, standing up. "But give us time and we will find that house and that arrogant bastard and then, I'm certain we can arrange who gets to beat the living hell out of him first."

"You don't like the guy, huh?" Gunn said.

"Astute observation," Wesley rolled his eyes.

Giles' expression was ice-cold and hard. "You could look at it that way," he replied quietly. "Let me just say that I've had a rather violent dislike of him for the last thirty-five years."

"Geez," Xander said. "When you hold a grudge... why a grudge? What did he do?"

"That isn't important at the moment," Giles replied, then looked at Wesley. "Wesley, would you be willing to aid me with some research?" The younger watcher was on his feet immediately. "Spike?"

"If it means getting the bit back, you know you don't have to ask."

"I'll help too!" Anya said immediately. "I'll ask Albus if he has any ideas as well."

"I'm gonna go train," Faith said, on her feet, hands on her hips. "I wanna be in prime shape to kick some big bad blondie ass. And I'm guessin' that Gunn's with me?"

Charles Gunn shrugged. "If you need some help, sure."

"What about you two? What will you be doing?" Giles looked down at Hermione and Xander, who gave him identical looks. "And I suppose that really was an awfully stupid question, wasn't it?"

Xander half-grinned, although it lacked enthusiasm. "You know where we'll be."

***

"Willow?"

Green eyes opened, squinting slightly by the light of the small lamp on the cabinet beside the bed. "Hey, sweetie," Willow's lips moved weakly to form a smile, which was replaced with a wince, one hand coming to her head.

Leaning forward, sitting on the edge of the bed, Hermione replaced Willow's fingers with her own, massaging the red head's temples. "Are you all right?" she asked, concern marked on her face.

"Yeah... yeah, gettin' there. A bit dizzy, though."

"Still?"

Willow closed her eyes, sighing as Hermione continued to gently move her fingers in light circles. "I was so mad at that guy," she replied wearily. "I could feel the power building to blast him to weeny pieces and then, he was gone and the power... it didn't have anywhere to go... I had to let it stay in me..."

"And instead of hurting him, it hurt you?"

The red head dipped her chin in assent.

"Oh, Willow," Hermione sighed, dipping her head and brushing her brow against her lover's. "What are we going to do with you?"

"Kiss it better?" Willow suggested hopefully, a little more energy in her voice.

The brown-haired witch couldn't withhold a laugh. "You're practically unconscious from dizziness after channelling far too much powerful magic and yet, you still able to claim the right of kissing."

"And?" Willow jutted out her lower lip, widening her eyes. "Smoochies?"

"You really are dreadful, Willow," Hermione shook her head, smiling, then touched her lips lightly against Willow's. The red head murmured in acknowledgement, a hand sliding into Hermione's hair, deepening the kiss. 

The kiss was only broken when Willow's head rocked to one side, a sigh slipping past her lips, and Hermione drew back to see a serene look on the red head's face, her eyes closed peacefully in sleep.

Brushing strands of silky hair back from Willow's flushed cheeks, the other witch smiled. "You get some rest," she said softly, shifting on the bed to sit beside her lover and arranging Willow's head against her shoulder.

Murmuring comfortably, Willow snuggled against her girlfriend, flinging one arm possessively around Hermione's waist, rubbing a cheek against Hermione's shoulder through her dark robes. 

A hand stroked through the younger witch's red hair. "I love you, Willow Weasley," Hermione whispered, pressing a kiss to Willow's forehead. 

***

"Did I mention how much I hate the PTB?"

"A few times," Cordelia smiled faintly at him, her hand rising to touch her temple, where a scab was healing up nicely. "I gotta say than I'm not exactly on the best of terms with 'em myself."

Xander sat down beside her on the bed, the blanket rumpled over her legs. Taking her hands in his, he studied her seriously. "Is there any way you could get rid of the vision thing?" he asked.

"I-I don't know if I would want to," she said hesitantly. "I mean, they hurt and they can be really gross sometimes, but they're part of who I am. They give me a reason to do what I do."

Xander tilted his head, gazing at her.

"What?"

One side of his mouth lifted slightly, but he didn't reply. 

"Xander!" she exclaimed, slapping at his leg. "What is it? Do I have something on my nose?"

"Nothing like that." he answered, squeezing her fingertips. "I'm just thinking how amazing you are." Cordelia blushed prettily, a broad smile splitting her face. "I mean, you've changed so much... you know stuff. You're brave, gorgeous, smart..."

"Blushing like crazy?" she offered, beaming at him.

"That too," he laughed, raising one hand to stroke some loose strands of long dark hair back from her cheek. "Kinda obvious who the special person in this relationship is, isn't it?"

"Don't start that," she cautioned, raising a finger to point at him. "You are pretty special yourself, Xander Harris. Dorky and a bad dresser, but still damn special and you're normal. You're not like the other weird things I've had to work with."

Xander gave her a lop-sided grin. "You're talking to the guy who liked a preying mantis, a mummy, a witch, three Slayers, en ex-demon and is now happily involved for the rest of his life with a Seer."

"F-for the rest of your life?"

"Or as long as you can put up with me," He shrugged with a self-depreciating smile. "Personally, I like the forever deal. I lost you once and I'm not gonna be stupid enough to do it again."

Cordelia leaned forwards on the bed and wrapped her arms around him and Xander smiled against the top of her head, as he embraced her.

***

"You have a visitor, Mister Cameron."

Lying on his back on the curtained-off bed, Duncan stared blindly up at the ceiling, his eyes prickling. He didn't even acknowledge the Medi-witch or the other figure at the drapes until the bed shifted and he tilted his head.

"You all right?" Swallowing hard, his throat tight, Duncan shook his head stiffly from side to side. Spike gave him a knowing look. "Need a shoulder?"

He didn't have a chance to answer before unwanted tears spilled from his eyes and the vampire sighed, letting the boy break into short, sharp sobs against his shoulder, patting his reassuringly on the back, letting him get it out of his system.

"It wasn't your fault, Dunc," he said, as the boy's sob quieted and he looked down at his blanket, embarrassment and misery etched in equal measures on his flushed face.

"It was," Duncan replied hoarsely, his voice cracking. "I-I lead that manky bastard right tae her room! I did that and ye cannae say that it wasnae my fault that he got in there! I-I tried no' tae say anythin', but he tol' me to and I couldnae stop meself!"

Spike nodded. "I'll agree with that," he said. "You lead him there, said what he told you, but you didn't do it yourself, did you? He put a spell on you that even ths strongest people have trouble fighting."

"I-I didnae want tae, Spike," the boy whispered hopelessly. "I tried not tae dae what he was tellin' me, but I couldnae help it... and now, he's got Dawnie and she could be dead an' it's all mah fault!"

Blue eyes met blue. "Dunc," Spike repeated. "What part of this are you not getting? It wasn't your fault. The only person to blame for this is that bloody ponce who put the spell on you, nicked her and left the Slayer in a coma."

"Slayer? Professor Summers?" Duncan's head snapped up. "What happened?"

"Demons," Spike said without elaboration. "He set it up. He had it all planned and you just happened to be there at the wrong place and time."

"Is... will she be all right?"

Spike's eyes darted towards the curtains, beyond which a silencing charm was still enclosing the main part of the wing. "She'll be fine," he said decisively. "The Slayer always is and she's been through some bloody awful things. I should know, since I caused a hell of a lot of 'em."

"And Dawnie...?"

This time, the vampire's smile was cold and certain. "We're getting her back," he said, a feral golden gleam in his blue eyes. "No one takes the Niblet without getting a hell of a lot of people pissed off. Giles and Mini-Giles are working on a way to find them and then, we're going to collectively the sorry bastard's arse."

Sniffing and swallowing hard, Duncan's eyes flashed. "Can I help?"

The vampire grinned. "I knew that there was a reason I liked you, Dunc," he said, clapping the boy on the shoulder. "And yes, although I think you're gonna have to form an orderly queue behind Giles, Slayer, Slayer two and pretty much everyone else in our merry band." 

Duncan nodded. "I can wait."

***

Snape was exhausted.

His eyes were dry and blood-shot, his head throbbing from the fumes of the antidote he had spent ten hours simmering after eight hours of trying to find out just what the poison was, his body aching from being bent over the cauldron for so long. 

It would be so easy to go to sleep now.

After all, Professor Summers had been dosed with the potion and she had come out of the toxin-induced coma she had been in for a day and a half, to fall into a deep cleansing sleep.

Snape was sure that, had she not been blessed with the healing abilities of the Slayer, she would have been dead within hours, her strength keeping her with them long enough for a cure to be found.

It was nearly thirty-six hours to the minute since she had come under attack and the Potions Master hadn't slept a moment since then, keeping both eyes on her as often as he could spare them.

Now, with the early morning chill in the air, the slice of moonlight cutting through the window and across the ward to cast strange light over them, he was starting to feel the prickles of exhaustion. 

Sitting beside her bed, the silencing charm still on the ward, his elbows propped up on his knees, his chin and lips were pressed against his interlocked hands. His eyes were fixed on the girl asleep in the bed in front of him, a gold glow of a lantern on the cabinet beside the bed, mingling oddly with the cold moonlight on her face.

He studied her pale face, which was almost as white as the pillow she was lying on, her blonde hair fanning around her, only the barest of rosy patches on her cheeks indicating that she was still alive.

The wounds inflicted by the Hell beasts on her had healed completely and her face was no longer swollen, but she still looked so very small and fragile, the crisp sheets and thick blankets tucked tightly across her chest.

Her chest was rising and falling steadily with light breaths, her lips parted a little. He almost smiled, because when she breathed in her sleep, she made the oddest little squeak of a snore. 

One hand came out, but he hesitated, his fingertips a millimetre from contact with the soft skin of her cheek. Tracing the outline of her face, not quite touching her, he released a sigh, his eyes so heavy.

Pulling his chair a little closer to the bed, he raised his right arm to prop his elbow on the mattress, his right cheek leaning heavily on the upraised hand as he continued to watch her for any sign of waking.

When he closed his eyes, he was so sure it would just be for a moment.

Something brushed against his head, making him stir, his eyes squinting in the morning sunlight that was flooding the ward and he lifted his head, suddenly feeling very embarrassed.

He had fallen asleep, when he had intended to keep watch over her until she woke.

Which brought back to him the fact that something had touched him...

And the only thing anywhere near the place where his head had been lying - he could see the indented spot in the thick blankets - was the hand of the slim waif of a girl in the bed.

"Summers?" All thoughts of sleep and weariness were shaken off instantly and he stood up quickly, sitting down on the edge of the bed, lifting her hand between both of his. "Summers, if you're faking, so help me..."

A breathy sigh escaped her pale lips, which seemed to have regained a little of their former colour when he had been sleeping, and he felt like a giant hand was crushing his heart. 

It seemed like an eternity before her lids fluttered weakly.

"Yes, Summers, you lazy hussy. Open your eyes," he whispered, hoping and praying that he had got the antidote exactly right. After all, he had tested it on himself, as soon as it was ready and it seemed to have worked. He almost chuckled at a thought that slipped into his mind: if Pomfrey had known he had injected himself with some of the poison from the beast, in order to make sure his potions worked, he knew she would have gutted him. "You have been sleeping quite long enough, you indolent excuse for a Professor." 

Slowly, painfully slowly, Summers' hazel eyes opened, squinting uncomfortably in the bright light washing into the huge room through the enormous windows that lined the opposite wall.

"Snapey..." Her voice was rasping and dry, but he wanted to sing with relief. She was alive! She was conscious! She hadn't sprouted another head! "You... made that up... indo-thingie..."

Releasing her hand, he reached over and grasped the goblet of water - with some kind of energy potion that Pomfrey liked - in it. 

"Here, Summers," He gently helped her to sit up, his arm around her shoulders to support her, raising the goblet to her dry lips. "Drink this."

She took a slow sip, then coughed. 

"What is that?" she breathed. "Cat pee?"

"It'll help, you impertinent little minx," he answered, trying not to smile. Her lips curled up slightly and she started to sip the fluid with appropriate sounds of distaste until she finished it.

Letting her lie back down, he replaced the goblet on the cabinet, lifting her small hand between his rough, callused ones. "Summers," Her hazel eyes - half-closed - moved to him. "Don't you _ever_ consider scaring me like that again."

"Scaring you?" she laughed weakly. "Snapey, that was everyday-Buffy-world...no stopping it just cos the Moody-guy says so."

She stared at him in bewilderment when he lifted her right hand up to his face, pressing his cheek against her palm, enclosing her hand between his face and hand, his skin cool and dry. 

His black eyes were closed, pressed tight as if he were in pain, his breath warm against her bare wrist and for some reason, it was sending funny tingles through her.

"I was almost certain we had lost you," his voice was a whisper, but not the one she was familiar with. This whisper was shaking with emotion. "Had it taken even a few moments longer, it would have been too late..."

Buffy blinked at him, looking so blonde, so confused and so downright American that he wanted to laugh. "Huh?"

A brush of a kiss was touched to the inside of her wrist and the Slayer gasped at the light contact. 

"You really are quite something, Summers," Snape murmured, leaning forward to gaze at her. His lips brushed against hers in the barest hint of a caress. She shivered a little, not quite sure what to make of this.

"Huh?"

There was a husky chuckle and then, his lips met hers for a few seconds longer, like silk against hers. It wasn't the kind of kiss that she was used to from Snapey, but OH MY GOD! 

One hand braced him on the mattress, the other cupping her face as the gentle, soft kisses were plied to every millimetre of her dry lips, Buffy's eyes sinking closed. It felt like she was melting.

She had to be melting.

Gooey heap...

Trembling from head-to-toe.

Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod...

Sensually teasing her lips, he drew back as soon as she raised her hand to try and draw him to her. The genuine, barely visible smile she saw on his face made her gape at him mutely, stretching out a hand to him.

"I'm not certain what it is yet," He rose to his feet, his fingertips lingering briefly against hers. "But you are definitely something," Several paces from the bed, he studied her. "I shall inform your friends that you are well enough to see them."

"Snapey!" Her voice came out in even more of a pathetic squeak than she expected.

"Summers?" He pivoted without seeming to move his feet, which really was an impressive-looking trick, his eyes hooded again, although the smirk on his lips was more smiley than smirky.

Unable to think of anything coherent to say, she lifted one hand and politely stuck her middle finger up at him.

"And I can wholeheartedly reciprocate, Summers," he chuckled softly, then swept out of sight around the drapes, leaving the confused Slayer to try and work out just what had happened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN: Pomfrey RULES! :D Sorry. Had to get that out of my system :) Also, for the record, Buffy is growing on me. Yuck. Someone just kick me now. Oh and I adore Duncan! Duncan is my angel! And the Dawn lines to Malfoy :D *cackles* They make me giggle every time :)

Coming soon, in the next chapter of The Eighth Weasley - Dawn receives aid from an expected source, Giles explains his previous...association with Malfoy (ain't pleasant) and the plot starts to thicken (too much yeast). Can you tell I LOVE knowing exactly what is coming?


	54. Strange Allegiance

The Eighth Weasley - Chapter Fifty-Four

Strange Allegiance

Notes: This chapter has taken a while to write and post, mainly because of my uni malarky. Big surprise there, eh? Not only am I - according to my tutors - incapable of forming sentences (I'm a fiction writer! Not a bloody literary theorist! It's a whole different language!), but I have to rewrite every chapter of my dissertation so far. 

Yes, I know they were rubbish, but that's not the point! Also, I had a plan for this chapter, but I lost it in the chaos that was my paper shuffle. It has just resurfaced amid my notes on Coriolanus. And, you know, this is the first chapter in months, which hasn't had huge chunks written in advance.

Also, for anyone who is mildly curious, I have a list where I give advanced notice of impending updates and its also there for general chitchat and random queries about fics, so feel free to visit: - Everyone's welcome :D

_________________________________

"Good morning, Buffy."

Squinting in the beam of sunlight pouring in through the gap in the curtains, Buffy Summers smiled weakly at the sight of Giles. 

It had been less than ten minutes since Snape had departed, leaving her trying to gather her scattered wits, so seeing Giles there provided a stabilising reminder that the world wasn't as mad as she was sure she was going. 

"Hey," she murmured, struggling to sit upright. By her side instantly, her Watcher helped her, his face liberally dashed with stubble, his eyes ringed with dark circles. He looked even more tired than she felt and that was saying something. "What's up?"

"Perhaps it would be better for me to know how you are feeling..."

Hazel eyes narrowed in suspicion and Buffy shook his hand off her arm, raising a hand and forcing his face around to hers, her expression turning questioning. "Giles, you're avoiding the question. What's happened?"

Giles met her eyes, then looked down, one of his hands taking one of her hers. "The demons that attacked you were a distraction," he said, his voice strained. "They had to be sure you would be absent."

Buffy stared at him in shock. "You... you mean, they got to Dawnie?" she whispered.

"I-I-I'm afraid so," Giles nodded, his other hand coming up to squeeze her shoulder in a wordless gesture of comfort. "It was Malfoy, but we know that Dawn is safe for at least a few months."

"At least a few months?" the young woman echoed, her eyes moving dazedly around the room. "I-I don't get it... how could he have got into the school? I mean, the way powerful magic things... they're meant to protect the school."

"We're not entirely sure, Buffy," Giles replied quietly, his own expression tight with concern. "But we are working on a way to find Malfoy's home, as it is most likely that he would have transported Dawn there."

"But they'll hurt her..."

Buffy had already started to push the blanket back from her legs, trying unsteadily to get out of the bed, but dizziness got the better of her and she dropped heavily back down onto the mattress, clutching her head.

"Buffy, we know that Dawn will be safe until May at least," Giles repeated, grasping the Slayer's arm and drawing her back onto her bed. "Causing her harm would be sheer stupidity on their part."

"How... how do you know that?"

"Faith," he replied, a tone of muted surprise in his voice. "She, Wesley and Charles made... discreet inquiries at the shop where they purchased weapons and discovered that, should Glory capture Dawn, there is only one point of the year when their ritual would succeed and that is not until late May or early June at least."

Pressing her hands down on the mattress beneath her, Buffy brought herself into a fully upright position, wincing. "You guys are looking for a way to find her and bring her back, right?"

"Of course," he replied, nodding immediately. "We have been working on it since she was snatched. I believe Wesley and Spike are currently working through possible locations. Faith and Charles are currently testing the arsenal they collected."

"And everyone else?"

"Willow is trying to control her magic," Giles answered. "She lost control once more and she thinks she will be of more aid if she can control it better. Xander has taken Cordelia to Hogsmeade. He believes she needs to have a break, as her visions have been growing increasingly painful."

The Slayer nodded. "What... what about Snapey? Does he know?"

"Of your situation?"

"About Dawn," she corrected a little too quickly. Giles raised a brow in question and Buffy haltingly said, "She likes him and I kinda get the feeling that Crankenstein likes her as well. I figured he'd wanna know."

"I'll see that he is informed. Do you know when he left here?"

Buffy shrugged her shoulders, trying to act nonchalantly. "A few minutes ago, I guess," she replied, hoping she sounded a little casual. "He gave me some icky potion to drink, then stomped off somewhere."

"Probably to his quarters, then," Giles acknowledged, glancing out of the window as he continued, "You are aware that he spent hours working on potions to save your life and did not leave your side once?"

"He... he did? Snapey?"

"I would say he did a rather good job of it, wouldn't you?" Green eyes drifted to her face and she could have sworn she saw the Watcher smirk at her.

Buffy gave her Watcher a deeply suspicious look. " So you're telling me," she said dubiously. "That Snapey, the one guy in this school who can't stand me, spent hours making weird soup things to save my life?"

"And spent over thirty hours watching over you to make sure that you were not adversely affected by the potion, which he tested on himself to be sure it would not kill you. He refused to let anyone else take his position," Giles said, smiling at the stunned look on Buffy's face. "Life's a funny thing, isn't it?"

Narrowing her eyes, Buffy studied him. "Are you sure you're not joking?"

"Get some rest, Buffy," he said, getting to his feet. "Madam Pomfrey will have some breakfast brought for you and when you're ready, the rest of us will either be the training room downstairs."

"So you were joking?"

"I shall see you later, Buffy."

"Giles!"

"Enjoy your breakfast."

"Giles!" Flopping back down on the bed as her Watcher disappeared through the drapes, Buffy clapped both hands over her still-white face. "I hate it when he does that," she moaned.

***

It was still cold.

She knew it was morning because of the narrow slit of warm light which had cut sharply through a tiny crack at the top of the black, gleaming stone of the walls, the second time it had done so.

Curled in the corner of the tiny stone box that had been her prison for nearly two full days, Dawn Summers hugged her knees tightly to her chest, the bone-numbing chill of the cell penetrating her to the bone.

Her face was burning, sweat trickling down her cheeks and the back of her neck, and she knew that she was getting ill because of the cold, damp air, her stomach growling in a desperate plea for food.

No food had been brought since her capture and her lips were cracked and dry, blood crusting them. Tears were pointless, as well, she had realised after crying during the first night, leaving her cheeks caked in salt.

She hadn't seen anyone in two days, not since the white-haired guy had tossed her into the cell and left her there. 

It wasn't like she remembered seeing it in the movies, with the mattress in the cell and bread and water. It was way worse than that. No mattress. No bread. No water. No warmth. No light. Nothing. She had started crying for her mom within hours.

The guy...

He was a bad guy.

Worse than anything she had met before.

At least Angelus had only wanted to kill her.

Lucius Malfoy didn't care one way or the other. She was enclosed in a cell and she would stay there until she died, if what he said was true. He didn't mind if she starved, screamed or begged. He ignored it for the most part.

Shivering violently, her teeth clattered together loudly in the stony echo of the cell and she tried to force back the burning sensation in her eyes, blinking hard, the tears only making her cheeks sting more.

Forcing her mind back to her sister, she tried to convince herself that Buffy would be all right and that soon, Buffy would find her and she would be safe and her sister would kick Malfoy's ass.

She would kick it into a whole different shape and then a whole different dimension.

Trying to swallow, Dawn's throat felt painfully swollen and she pressed her head against the cold wall of the cell, the stone icy against her burning skin, making her half-gasp, half-sob.

It wasn't good. 

Why couldn't Glory just show up and kill her already?

Anything was better than sitting, curled in a ball, in a horrible dark cell with gross slime on the walls, no heat and no light and not even her way annoying sister to keep her company.

She didn't even have any of her potions in her pockets of her robes to help her, not even the blood-warming potion that she had made to stop herself and Duncan from getting cold in Snape's dungeon.

Duncan...

What if he wasn't okay? 

"No," she whispered to herself, her lips cracking and beading with fresh blood that left a nasty metallic taste in her mouth. Duncan couldn't be dead, he just couldn't be. He would be fine and she would kick his ass for scaring her.

Shifting painfully, her body stiff with cold, she pulled her damp robes tightly around her legs, shivering even harder, her fingers so numb she could barely close the fabric around her body.

Her tongue scraped along dry lips, catching more of the bloody droplets that were trickling down her chin, and she pressed her eyes closed, resting her forehead on her upraised knees, trying to find as much warmth in her body as possible.

Buffy wouldn't leave her here. Buffy wouldn't. They'd be on their way to get her out and she would be fine. She had to believe that Buffy wouldn't leave her here. She had to keep believing everything would be all right.

Curling into an even tighter ball in the corner, Dawn kept whispering it over and over like a mantra, "She'll come and get me... we'll be fine... she'll come and get me... we'll be fine..."

***

Ben didn't know how long he had been walking for or where he was walking to for that matter. He was following her mental instructions, returning to the place where her plaything lived.

He had woken up in a field, under a tree, several humans apparently waking around him, every one of them babbling inanely, which lead to the assumption that Glory had been partying and had left him to deal with the victims.

And the hangover.

As the sun had crept up, cold and bright, a fine shimmer of frost on the grass and the budding trees around them, the light had made him realise just how much his head hurt and how much he wanted to soaking in a warm bath.

Or drowning in it. 

He couldn't really be sure as the headache had intensified, making him absolutely certain that not only had she drunk and drained a lot, but she had really wanted to make him suffer for annoying her.

It had taken the utmost effort to stagger to his feet, in order to make his way back to the mansion that had become him shelter. 

Of course, he had then almost fallen over at once, due to a combination of factors, the main one of which was the six-inch spike-heeled stilettos that his feet were tightly crammed into.

For the hundredth time in a week, he had rained insults down on her, making his way out of what appeared to be a cornfield and onto the nearest path in the vain hopes of making his way back to the house and dying quietly in a corner.

How Glory had left them both stranded in the middle of Cornwall, he didn't want to know. How she had got there, he did, because if he could use the same mode of transport to get back...

Stumbling when the heel snapped of his left stiletto, turning on his ankle, he cursed under his breath, bending to tear the thing off and almost bursting the back seam of the ridiculously tiny cocktail dress she had left him in.

Muttering a string of colourful obscenities in all the languages that Glory's native mind had cursed him with, he savagely ripped the other shoe, which was several sizes too small, off and started hobbling down the lane.

Sharp stones and sticks bit into the soft soles of his feet, making him sputter more abuse in the direction of his internal Hell-Goddess, as he limped onwards, oblivious to the scant warmth of the wintery sun on his skin.

Above him, the sky was blue, cloudless and crisp with frost, every breath he exhaled misting instantly in a cloud of white before his eyes.

His skin a rash of goosebumps, the skimpy silk peacock-blue dress barely covering him from chest to mid-thigh, he staggered onwards, ignoring the odd look he received from a warmly-dressed jogger.

Making a mental note to scream abuse at Glory as soon as his headache receded, the dark-haired young orderly sniffed in a dignified fashion, straightened his torn skirt and continued to limp down the path as if being spotted in the middle of the countryside on a winter morning, wearing little more than a scrap of blue fabric was the most normal thing in the world.

***

While the morning had begun brightly, clouds were beginning to gather gloomily on the cusp of her horizon, curly wisps bled with grey and black, which suggested that the bright weather they had been blessed with recently was about to come to an abrupt and dampened end.

Standing by the window of his study, one hand braced against the window frame, Lucius Malfoy was gazing out onto the grounds, his brow furrowed with a mixture of consternation and muted anxiety.

Glory had gone for 'a walk' allegedly, two days earlier, shortly after he had made his way to the school, to snatch the Slayer's sister, and the Hell Goddess had yet to return from her little outing.

It wasn't that he was worried about her well-being, but he did hope she would return before the whining brat imprisoned in the basement decided to rudely hop off the mortal coil before the trade for the key could take place.

Behind him, he heard the door of the study and railed around, expecting to find Glory standing there. "Where the devil have you... oh," A somewhat strained smile crossed his lips. "My dear."

Narcissa gazed placidly back at him. "Lucius, I heard someone crying somewhere in the house yesterday," she said, an agitated look on her face. "I couldn't sleep last night because of it."

"Concerned, my dear?"

"Tired, Lucius," she retorted, shooting a glare at him. "I want a decent night's sleep and if you don't tell me what's going on in this house, I may have to take it apart stone by stone until I find what's making that racket and kill it."

"Kill it?" Lucius started. "Isn't that overreacting slightly, my dear Narcissa?"

Eyes that were heavy with exhaustion, marked by deep smudges of darkness beneath them, stared back at him with a flare of annoyance. "Lucius, you do recall how much I appreciate my sleep, do you not?" Her husband winced, clearly remembering. "And you do also recall how... exasperated I tend to get if I don't get my sleep." She smiled thinly. "I believe that killing is warranted in such circumstances."

"Ah..."

"So, Lucius," Folding her arms, she glowered at him. "Would you mind informing me of what is going on and silence that infernal wailing? If we need to have another exorcism, I will not be amused."

"Well, you see, my dear," He motioned her towards the couch by the fireplace, which stood to the right of the door. Stretching out at one end, Narcissa watched him as he leaned one arm on the mantle, talking down to her. "You are aware that Glory is not of this world, aren't you?" 

Narcissa nodded. "She had mentioned it on occasion."

"She requires a particular key to return to her home dimension and a young woman, called the Vampire Slayer, has this key which Glory requires promptly." He smiled thinly down at his wife, one hand resting on his hip. "In order to retrieve it, we have taken the precaution of acquiring her younger sister in order to have a bargaining chip to trade for this key."

"So you've brought a whiney little school girl to my home to let her interrupt my sleep pattern?" Narcissa snapped irritably. "Dammit, Lucius, couldn't you even put a sound-proof spell her cell or something? What on earth is she crying about anyway?"

"I assume that she is afraid of the dark."

His wife gave him a disbelieving look. "Lucius, you truly have no grasp of the subtleties of kidnap, do you?" He looked aggrieved by the statement. "This capture has given you an excellent opportunity to turn one of the Slayer's own against her and you leave the child crying for her mother in the dark."

"What do you mean?"

Narcissa raised her eyes ceilingwards. "What I mean, my dear, naive husband, is that you could have corrupted the child. Turned her to your way of thinking and sent her back to retrieve the key for you."

"Brainwash her..."

"But not by magic," Narcissa agreed, her ruby lips curving in a slow smile. "If you had treated her with kindness to begin with, when you brought her here, you could have brought her to our side by now."

"So it is too late?"

The woman shook her head. "Not at all, Lucius," she said. "While she would see you as cruel, let me go to her, persuade her that I am her friend and confidante, then turn her to our side."

Lucius' eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why would you do such a thing?" he asked. "I know that you hate Glory, so why would you wish to help?"

"The sooner that whore gets her key, Lucius, the sooner she will be out of my home and my life," Narcissa responded coldly. "If I have to manipulate a pathetic child to ensure that she will be gone, I will do so."

Pushing off from the fireplace, Lucius approached the couch, sitting down close to Narcissa and lifting one of her hands to his lips to kiss her knuckles. "You, my dear," he said with pride. "Should have been a Slytherin with such cunning."

"You underestimate me, Lucius," Narcissa murmured casually as his lips touched her wrist, moving slowly up her arm. "Because I am blessed with a Ravenclaw's intellect does not mean I am without wit."

"Brains and beauty... my dear, you are an intoxicating combination," He was pressed against her, his lips brushing her throat. Narcissa reclined back against the arm of the couch, saying nothing. "Perhaps I have neglected you a little lately."

"Perhaps," she said in a lazy voice, turning her head to accept his kiss, neither resisting or encouraging his advances, as his fingers deftly unfastened the clasps of her gown. "Should I not see to the child?"

"Shortly," Lucius responded, lifting her chin and gazing at her. "For now, I wish to give some of my attention over to you, for being even more deft and Machiavellian in thought than I imagined possible."

Narcissa smiled slightly, her eyes hooded. "You flatter me, Lucius," she said softly, but did not contradict him.

***

"Anything?"

His glasses resting on the book in front of him, Wesley rubbed dry eyes and shook his head. 

"I'm afraid not," he replied, leaning back against the high back of the chair at the broad table. "Re-plotting an unplottable building can only be performed by the caster of the original spell."

"I doubt Malfoy is about to run to our side and help us with that," Giles muttered, half to himself, his fingers running down the page of the latest book he was studying, a line appearing between his brow. 

"If I may ask..." Green eyes lifted to Wesley. "Why do you hate him so? What has he done that caused you to dislike him?"

"Aside from the obvious?" Spike offered from the other side of the table. While it had taken Wesley a while to adjust to the concept of a soulless demon helping them, they had got on unusually well. "I have been wondering the same myself, old man."

The three of them had been working constantly in the large unused classroom which also served as their weapon store room, only taking brief breaks to sleep for a few moments here and there or to get something to eat, to keep up their energy.

Seated around a table, which was weighted down with mountains of papers, scrolls and books, the bright morning light that was ebbing through the windows glistened on the dust that hung in the air.

Closing over the book he was using, Giles looked at both the other men. "It's enough to say that I do not think Dawn is in a safe place at the moment," he replied tersely, his expression grim.

"And yet," a fourth voice said quietly. "You didn't think to ask me for aid."

Wesley made a muffled squeak that suggested he was startled and whipped around to find Severus Snape standing in the doorway, his arms folded over his chest, his expression inscrutable.

"Severus, you ought to be resting," Giles sighed. "You have been awake far too long without a break."

"The young Summers is missing, Rupert. Surely you did not think I would heed your note and leave an assembly of moronic cretins to do a job that only someone with more than half a brain cell is capable of," Snape moved towards the table, his steps slow, a little laboured. As he grew closer, the paleness of his face and the shadows beneath his eyes grew even more pronounced. "And you are aware that I may be the only person who knows the vague whereabouts of her prison. This is no time to be sensitive about my emotions."

Wesley's eyes widened. "You know?"

"I know vaguely," Snape corrected, his eyes scanning over the table. He located a map, withdrawing it from the pile and spread it in front of him, his eyes moving rapidly over it. "I have been to the mansion in the past and, while I can not be one hundred percent certain, I do know the vague locale to within a mile or so."

"So you know the filthy sod who nicked the Niblet," Spike murmured, black eyes snapping up to meet ice blue. "Lemme guess. Along with Giles' tale, it isn't one of sunshine and roses and whiskers on kittens?"

"An accurate summation," Snape acknowledged, returning to the map.

"So fill us in, then!" the vampire said. "Let us know what we're dealing with and what it is that has your knickers in a knot! I mean, how are we meant to fight him if we don't know how bad he is?"

The tension in the room seemed to intensify with every word the blond vampire said and Giles and Snape exchanged looks, then Snape slowly nodded.

"It is only fitting," he said, sinking down into one of the vacant chairs. Continuing to pore over the map, the shaking in his hands would have gone unnoticed if Wesley hadn't been watching him closely. "Tell them."

"Lucius Malfoy and I attended Hogwarts in the same year," Giles began, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. "We didn't really meet until part way through first year, when he found out my muggle-born origins. It goes without saying that Malfoy is more than a little biased towards the pureblood line of thinking."

"Anti-muggle?" Spike inquired.

"Mildly," Snape put in with a bitter little laugh.

Giles nodded. "He also had a connection to the one known as Voldemort. We're not quite sure how or when they first associated, but Lucius was one of his favoured ones from the start. Cold-blooded, ruthless and dangerous."

"Sounds like a charming individual," Wesley said sourly.

"The problem was that he could be," Giles stood up and began to pace across the room, heaving a sigh. "He could be suave, charming and I don't doubt that he was highly intelligent. Unfortunately, one of my close friends during our school years developed a fatal crush on him."

"He killed her?"

"Far worse than that, I'm afraid," Giles said quietly. "In our fifth year, he decided that he would not mind... utilising her, to sate his pleasures. He tried to force her into an intimate relationship and when she refused, I'm certain he would have raped her, had I not been looking for her. I beat the bastard to within an inch of his life, which I am certain did nothing to aid his... lack of affection for muggle-borns."

"So you dislike the man because he attacked one of your friends?"

"That was when it all started," the former watcher said grimly. "Ginger, the friend, believed herself to be safe, but a Malfoy is like a crocodile lying in the shallows of the river. He awaited his revenge, patient and calculating, until it came close enough for him to snatch it. She had humiliated him by refusing him, so when the chance came for him to ruin her, he grabbed it in both hands." 

"He suggested attacking her family to the Dark Lord, because the McKinnons had refused to follow him. Malfoy's own reasons were far more sinister. Ginger, being the pretty thing she was, was used as a plaything for hours before they granted her the mercy of death, right in front of another of our school friends, who then spent her life trying to attain vengeance, only to be murdered by him during the war." Giles exhaled a sigh. "Not to mention the fact that he is the one who introduced Severus to the dark, taking advantage of a lonely young man."

"Not the best of men, as you can see," Severus said in a tight, controlled voice.

"So when do I get to kick his ass?"

All four men visibly jumped in surprise at the voice of the Slayer, three pairs of eyes looking towards her, where she was leaning against the doorframe, her arms folded and her expression deadly.

Dressed in dark clothing, her hair pinned back loosely from her face in clasps, a set of jet robes hung loosely around her slender body, which was framed by the door, and a long, narrow blade was visible at her belt.

"Buffy, are you sure you should be up?"

"Giles, that guy has my sister," she said coolly, one hand implicitly pushing the robes back from the blade that hung by her hip. "If you don't give me an axe and show me where to point it, I'm not gonna be happy."

Black eyes that were fastened to the map on the table shifted slightly. "I believe I may know the locale, Summers," Snape said, his voice low and quiet. "Give me a moment to locate it."

Approaching the chair where the Potions Professor was sitting, the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor looked at the map, placing a hand on Severus' shoulder to maintain her balance.

Severus' eyes closed briefly at the contact, then he drew a sharp breath between his teeth and looked down at the map again. His fingertip circled an area about four miles square in the region of Oxford. "Here," he said tersely.

"We'll look into getting someone down there, immediately," Giles said, standing up and grabbing the map.

"Rupert," Snape looked up, the muscles in his cheeks tightening. "Don't forget that he will have wards and security measures that are charmed by dark magic. I would not wish to see any of you harmed."

"I'll see to it," Giles nodded. "Buffy, do you wish to take Faith?"

"Huh? Oh... yeah. We're gonna go from the grounds, right?"

"Of course." The senior watcher nodded. "Wesley, would you be kind enough to inform Faith of the situation? Spike, could you tell Dumbledore? I will find Flitwick to create a portkey. Buffy, we will be outside, when you are ready."

The Slayer nodded. "Be right there," she said, as both Spike and Wesley rose, the three men leaving the room. Her hand was still resting lightly on Snape's shoulder and she looked down at him. "I guess I have to thank you," she said quietly. 

Black eyes rose to her, surprise and bewilderment crossing Snape's face. "What on earth for?"

Turning and leaning back against the edge of the table, in front of him, crossing her arms over her chest, she smiled slightly. "You spend hours mixing up your weird soups to save my life and stay to check on me all night and you don't think that is worth a thank you?"

"I merely did what any..."

Her fingertips silenced him and she shook her head slowly. "You didn't 'merely do' anything," she said, her eyes locked with his. "You protected Dawnie when I had to fight. You saved my life when no one else could. Not many people would do that."

Her hand slid to his cheek and she replaced her fingertips with her lips in the lightest brush of a kiss. "Thank you," she murmured against his lips, her half-closed eyes still holding his.

Although at a later date, he would not be able to say what possessed him to perform such an absurd act, Severus' hands spread on her hips and he drew her down to his lap, their mouths melding together in a burning kiss.

A small, strong hand gripped the back of his neck, his own arms tightening around her as her other hand ran down his chest, the very air around them growing heated as the kiss was deepened.

Under its own volition, one of Severus' hands brushed under her robes, caressing her thigh through the fabric of her trousers, then sliding up, over her hip, continuing up, past her waist.

However, it was her hand that lifted his to her breast and he felt her tremble at the contact, his eyes opening.

Breaking apart, panting, Summers stared at him, her face flushed. His hands slipped from her tiny body and he drew deep gulping breaths, unable to tear his eyes from her swollen lips and bright eyes.

"Perhaps you ought to catch up with Rupert," he heard himself say, while his mind screamed in protest that it wanted nothing more than to take the strangely-attractive-when-thoroughly-snogged Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor and do indecent things to her on the table in front of him. 

Licking her lips and blinking several times, the Slayer nodded, sliding from his embrace and practically running from the room, her dainty heels clicking all the way down the corridor as she fled.

Exhaling a breath, Snape sank down in the seat, his bony hands contracting around the polished arms of the chair. He carefully licked his lips. Today, she had tasted of chocolate and peppermint, he observed.

A faint chuckle escaped him with that thought.

It really was turning out to be a very odd day.

***

Defence Against the Dark Arts had been efficiently cancelled for at least three days.

There were several reasons for this: two of the days counted because the teacher had been comatose in the medical wing, the third expected because said teacher was off on a journey to retrieve her kidnapped sister.

The additional excuse was that the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom had been wrecked beyond recognition, pieces of furniture that were hundreds of years old had been smashed to smithereens and were in the process of being repaired by the ever patient Flitwick in his free time.

In the absence of the teacher, the pupils spent their time in their common rooms and the Great Hall speculating about what had really happened and whether the demons were just part of an elaborate demonstration and whether the descriptions of the third year Hufflepuffs could be trusted.

After all, some of the Huffles were spreading the word that the creatures were over ten feet tall and the tiny Professor had fought them both, using only a sword and some of the most impressive fighting abilities that they had ever seen.

Whispers were spreading with deliberations that she was some kind of super-witch who didn't need to use spells because all her magic was manifested in her body and she used it to fight.

The fact that the reports were all identical did nothing to assure the Seniors that the third years had been party to the most dramatic Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson known to their era.

Only two students knew the reality behind the rumours, in particular the whispers of Professor Summers' superhuman strength, and one of them was currently sitting in the tower room with Willow Weasley, informing her of the theories that abounded, while trying to aid her with her magic, since his class had been cancelled.

"They think it was all a magic trick?"

Leon Mzimba nodded, grinning goofily at her. "Some of them think that the class ran for it and none of them saw anything as well. The older classes are just trying to make themselves feel better that they missed it."

"Big fun," Willow snorted, placing a rose on the blanket of the bed in front of her and focussing on it. "Seeing my bestest buddy getting ripped up by giant hell beasts is all the fun I wouldn't wanna see."

"Try to stay calm," Leon suggested when the rose started shuddering under her stare.

Instead of teaching the red-haired witch to control her wand, as had been the original intention, Flitwick and McGonagall had both agreed that it would be a great deal safer if she could, first, control her natural magic.

So, Leon had assigned himself the duty of aiding the red head in finding a way to maintain her calm and resist the urge to let her magic control her, instead of it being the other way around, when the teachers couldn't.

Drawing a slow breath and blowing it out, Willow nodded, pressing her lips together, a grim look on her face. Her body tensed then relaxed and she sighed as the rose lifted into the air, hovering just in front of her.

"Good," Leon breathed, kneeling opposite the witch. He glanced down at the book, then back at Willow's face, recognising the tightening of her brows when the rose started to fall. "Stay calm. Remember that you need to be in control."

Willow's breathing grew more staggered, but her face relaxed and she brought the rose lightly back down onto the dark blanket that they were sitting on, her whole body visibly relaxing as she released her hold on the magic.

"That was much better," Leon said encouragingly. "It didn't even smoke this time."

Flopping back against the pillows, panting, Willow moaned and flung her hands over her face. "It's so hard to fight it," she mumbled between her fingers. "I can feel it all there, ready for me to grab, but if I let it out, I know I could hurt someone."

"Always remember that, then," Leon suggested, picking up the rose carefully and offering it to her. "You can control it. You've controlled it for this long already and you know you can do it. It's just a matter of remembering it."

Taking the rose between finger and thumb, Willow sniffed its fragrance, then looked at him curiously. "How'd'you get so smart anyway?" she asked. "And why'd'you wanna waste your time with a crazy witch like me?"

"I don't know if I really am very smart, but I like helping you," Leon replied with a little shrug. "You don't laugh at me for knowing a lot of things like other people in my classes do."

Willow gave him a half-smile, remembering all too clearly what it was like to be stigmatised because of her intelligence that was concealed by her geeky mask. "Well, I think you're great," she said. "You're sweet, smart, cute as a button..."

"But you're still involved with Professor Granger," he finished, his cheeks darkening when he blushed.

Laughing softly, Willow beamed at him. "And as soon as you're old enough," she replied, leaning forward conspiratorially. "If Hermione and I don't work out, you'll have first call, I promise."

Leon's face split in a bright grin. "Shall we try basic transfiguration again, now?" he offered, trying to hide his blush.

***

Sitting on the stool at his desk, Severus Snape surveyed his fourth year potions class from behind the dark strands of his hair, his fingers flexing against the edge of the broad, dark desk.

Every head was bowed, the class working in silence in the dimly-lit room, most of them aware that the Potions Professor had barely slept and that he was liable to be furious at the slightest thing.

Worse than usual, actually, or so the rumours flew.

As soon as he had entered the room, glowering around at them, he had watched them scurry to their places and hunch over their work, none of them daring to look at him as he barked orders.

Now, they were working in silence, more well-behaved than they usually were, quite clearly absolutely petrified of any repercussions that might arise from misbehaving with him in a clearly foul mood.

Or so they believed.

Unnoticed, Severus lowered his chin a little, bringing up his left hand and touching his lips with his fingertips, hard-pressed to conceal the half-smile that almost came onto them at the thought of the last person - aside from himself - to touch them.

A crash from the back of the classroom made him start from his reverie, whipping around, his robes flaring around him like the wings of some ancient seraph rising from the depths as he surged to his feet.

Face as white as a sheet, Duncan Cameron was standing over the spilled contents of a cauldron, his hands shaking furiously. The terror on his face would have - on any other day - made a tongue-lashing even more amusing.

However, today, he knew why the boy was so shaken.

For one thing, his best friend was missing and might even be dead.

Sweeping up the silent class, aware that every pupil was trying to watch without being noticed, he loomed over the boy, who stared at him like a deer in headlights of an oncoming car.

"Cameron."

"I-I-I'm sorry, s-s-sir," the boy bent and hastily picked up the cauldron, his hands trembling so hard that he could barely grip the metal surface. "I-I tripped and it... I-I didn't... it was an accident..."

Severus folded his arms over his chest, staring down his nose at the boy. "Cameron, outside. Now."

A buzz of whispers ran around the class and the cauldron slipped from Duncan's hands again, bouncing with a hollow clang.

"Now, if you don't mind, Mister Cameron."

Wiping his hands down on his robes, his face getting even whiter, the boy edged passed the Professor and hurried towards the door. Unable to grip the handle properly, he whimpered, petrified eyes staring up at Snape.

Stalking towards him, Snape threw the door open and motioned the boy out, stepping out after him. Immediately a hum of concerned conversation whirred around the room as he pulled the door shut with a solid bang.

"Cameron."

"I-I don't know what happened, Sir... I..."

"Cameron," his tone softening, one of Severus' hands came out and touched the boy on the shoulder. The boy jumped, as if shocked by an electric charge, his eyes going round in panic. "You are not in any trouble. Not today."

"But I-I spilled the potion..."

Raising his other hand in a silencing gesture, Snape gazed down at him. "I am aware of the situation you are in, Mister Cameron. Miss Summers is your friend and I am sure you are greatly concerned about her, as we all are."

The boy seemed incapable of forming a vocal response. His chin dipped in a hesitant nod of agreement.

"While it is not in my nature to be humanitarian," Severus continued quietly. "I do not believe it will benefit you or your classmates for you to be causing catastrophes in every class you attend. I would suggest that you go to Madam Pomfrey and have her provide you with something to ease your nerves."

"I-I-I dinnae understand..."

"I'm giving you leave to miss your classes today, Cameron," Severus said patiently, his hand on the boy's shoulder squeezing reassuringly. "I have a suspicion that you would only be a source of chaos in a class today. It would be safer for all if you were to rest for today."

Duncan Cameron nodded jerkily, staring at Snape with combination of confusion and wary gratitude. "Th-thank you, sir," he stammered. "Sh-shall I go now?"

"Yes, it would be best," Severus nodded, then allowed the slightest implication of a smile to lift one side of his mouth. "And may yet convince your classmates that I have horribly murdered you and left your carcass to rest in the hall."

Cameron released a snort of laughter, which he immediately stifled, a hand over his mouth, the terrified look back on his face.

"Oh, do stop overreacting," Severus sighed. "Despite the rumours you might have heard, I do not make it a practise to devour students," He paused, studying a gargoyle that was sticking its tongue out. "Although, I do hear that they are delicious on toast."

Confusion was manifest on Duncan's face. "I-I'll just go now, sir," he said. "My bag an' things..."

"Will be sent back to your common room with a classmate," Severus replied, making a dismissive gesture with one hand.

Turning on tail, Cameron fled down the corridor, looking as scared of Severus as he had in the classroom, which served to make the Potions Professor smile slightly, safe in the knowledge that even when he was 'nice', he could still petrify his pupils.

Yes, it was a true gift.

***

"Where ya been, B?"

Running down the steps from the castle, her robes flapping around her legs and her face flushed, Buffy stopped beside Faith on the damp lawn. "Had something to take care of," she replied, panting a little.

The dark-haired Slayer had taken to wearing a set of black robes, cinched in at the waist, over her tight-fitting clothing and was practising fight positions with an axe to see how best to move in the heavy material.

"Something," Faith arched a brow. "Or someone?"

The blond Slayer's snort of laughter billowed out as a cloud of condensation. "Do you ever think of anything but that?" she demanded, shaking her head. "I mean, come on. Me? Someone? What are the chances in this place? And when I had to get all the weapons and things that Giles told me to bring?"

The dark Slayer's eyes flicked to Buffy's lips, then back to her eyes. "Don't know what made me think that you were gettin' smoochies, B," she murmured, a wicked twinkle in her eyes. Buffy's face flamed to crimson. "No clue at all."

"You, up, shut," Buffy said pithily.

Faith smirked. "Hitting a little too close to the mark, huh? Don't worry about it, B. I won't breathe a word to anyone... unless you got another of those souled-up-wannabe-vamps, cos then, I'm gonna tell everyone."

"No! No vamps," Buffy gave her a look. "And what's the big deal with me getting smoochies anyway?"

"You know how it is, B," Faith shrugged with a half-smile, hefting the axe from one hand to the other. "When you don't get a cookie for a while, you wanna know how everyone else's tasted." 

"Interesting analogy," Buffy remarked, grinning a little. "I'm guessing you are in serious want of a cookie?"

"'Want' isn't the word I'd use," Faith replied with a weak grin. "Dyin' of cookie-deprivation sounds better to me."

Shaking her head, Buffy had to laugh. "I'll have to introduce you to Sirius Black, next time he shows up here," she said. "Will and Hermione both agree that he's... uh... very cookieable."

"A girly guy?"

"Girly? Sirius?"

"Well, yeah," Faith smirked. "I know I'm not real picky, but I do kinda prefer my cookies with those real hard chips."

Buffy had to grin. "Sirius is one of the ungirliest guys I ever met. Yeah, he has long hair, but he has the whole hunky rebel thing going for him and he has these amazing blue eyes and..." On Faith's look, Buffy half-grinned. "Okay, yeah, the guy is cookie-licious, but he's not my kind of cookie."

"And who is?"

Buffy felt her ears go pink. "No one serious."

"I'm guessin' teaching faculty, because you don't strike me as the jailbait type, so that kinda narrows the field down a bit... and unless you're in the mood for fightin' off demon-girl, I'm guessin' the old Prof is off the menu."

"The old Prof...? Dumbledore?" Buffy looked faintly green. "God, Faith, thanks for the visual."

"Just thinkin' on the years of experience, B."

"Well... don't."

"Can't you just imagine the beard..."

"Faith!"

The dark Slayer smiled slightly, then nodded beyond Buffy. "You got your knight in Shining Armour on his way," she remarked, causing Buffy to turn and come face to face with Giles, who was carrying a long, narrow spar of wood.

"Portkey?"

"Sanctioned by Dumbledore," Giles acknowledged, huffing a breath out, one hand spreading on his chest. "Charles is on his way and Wesley should be momentarily. I believe they are collecting arms for the assault."

Sure enough, only a few moments passed before the two younger men were visible, running down the long staircase, each of them bearing weapons, although Wesley was yelling a caution about running with a double-sided axe.

"Hey Buffy, kid," Gunn beamed at them as he neared, giving Faith a grin. The dark Slayer grinned back at him, the first time that Buffy had seen her reacting to an older man in a non-sexual way. 

It almost seemed familial, in a way, and thinking about it, Buffy could understand why. Charles Gunn and Faith were both from the same mould: forced to be old before their time, taught by harsh life, raised on experiences that weren't the best kind.

If Faith had ever had anyone to relate to, it would be Charles.

"What's the plan?" Wesley asked.

"We hold onto the bit of wood Giles has, it does the magic thing to take us where we need to go, we show up at Malfoy's house, find him and kick his sorry ass," Buffy smiled sweetly. "Any questions."

"I'd say that was pretty clear, B," Faith said, all of them moving to stand around the older watcher and placing their hands on the wood. "When we due to take off?"

"Any second n..."

"DROP THE PORTKEY!" Dumbledore's booming voice, magnified by a spell, rang out over the grounds, every one of the group releasing their hold on the long splinter of wood.

"Wh..." Before Buffy could finish asking the question, there was a swooshing sound, then a pop from just behind them, the Slayer spinning to see a figure hunched down on the grass. "Omigod..."

Terrified blue eyes lifted, streaming with tears, staring between curtains of dark brown hair. They focussed on the blonde, squinting, the expression reminding Buffy painfully of the moment when the returned-from-Hell Angel had recognised her for the first time. 

"B-Buffy?"

"Dawnie!" Hurling her weapons down, Buffy sped to her sister's side, gathering the sobbing teenager in her arms and hugging her tightly. Her voice was strangled and she could feel hot tears sliding down her own face. "Omigod... Dawnie... you're back... you're back..."

***

"And you, cupcake, are tellin' me that we had the Slay-gal's little bitty sister in this cell and now, she's gone?"

Glowering up at Glory, his unconscious and bloodied wife cradled against his chest, Lucius' expression was dark, almost demonic in the flickering light of the torch that hung on the wall. "Well if you had not gone gallivanting off around the country, we would have been able to perform the trade."

Glory had just returned, in the bedraggled and bitter form of Ben, bare feet torn from walking for hours, skin blue-tainted from the cold and the flimsy scrap of a dress little more than a strategically-placed belt of cloth.

The young man had barely had time to fall into the bath in the nearest bathroom to the front door when Glory had taken control again, when Lucius knocked impatiently on the door, less than ten minutes after Narcissa had gone down to begin the breaking of the girl.

Of course, Glory was about to suggest he join her in the tub when the security wards went off, a houseelf had appeared and stammered something about an illegal portkey and Lucius had cursed loudly and explicitly, before racing off. 

Following impatiently, Glory had found him in the dungeon cell in the basement, Luce's wife sprawled on the floor, blood gushing from wounds on her forehead that looked like her head had been smashed off the bars of the cell.

"Well ex-cuuuse me for thinking you were gonna take a while, poodle," Glory folded her arms and glared back at him, her lips pressed together. "You haven't exactly been Mister-Immediate-Results before, so I didn't figure you would start now."

Lucius' scathing retort was cut off by a soft moan from Narcissa, whose grey eyes flickered open and she squinted up at him, looking bewildered. "L-Lucius?"

"My dear," he acknowledged, his smile cool. It was apparent that he was trying to contain his anger long enough to receive an explanation. "Would you be able to tell me what happened?"

Wincing, one hand to her temple, Narcissa nodded, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue. "I was trying to talk to the girl without getting too close. Said she couldn't here me, so I went nearer and she... she moved so fast... grabbed me, through the bars... pulled me forwards... grabbed the necklace, then... I... I think she hit my head on the bars..."

"Necklace?" Lucius' pale face went a shade whiter. "What necklace?"

Narcissa squinted at him, as if she was having trouble focussing, her blood-stained fingertips pressed against her temples. 

"It was on your desk..." she whispered vaguely, blinking hard. "I thought it was pretty... didn't think you would mind if I took it... then she grabbed it... said a spell... reactivation or something... I-I don't remember, Lucius... my head... it hurt... and I... I'm sorry..." 

Lucius nodded slowly. "It appears that we underestimated the brat," he murmured, sliding his arms under Narcissa's body and lifting her up. "Don't worry, my dear. This small flaw can be remedied."

"And how would that be, Luce?" Glory demanded snippily.

Lucius smiled thinly. "I do believe that our demon ally from the school has finally managed to find his way back. For now, though, I will take my wife to her chambers and let her recover from the brat's damnable temper."

"You gonna be okay, sweets?" the Hell Goddess glanced briefly at Narcissa, no concern in her voice, more morbid curiosity.

Narcissa smiled, the malicious gleam in her eyes hidden by her heavy lids. "I think I will be fine," she whispered in response, letting her head rest against her damn fool of a husband's shoulder. 

***

While two days previously, the medical wing had been deadly silent, the atmosphere could not have been more different, the whole room alive with chatter and laughter, as the American group gathered around Dawn.

The dark-haired teenager had been treated for shock and the first stages of a bout of what seemed to be pneumonia by Madam Pomfrey, then was bathed, cleaned up and given enough food to feed a banquet party.

Tucked up in a bed, her hair brushed by her sister, thick blankets around her, Dawn was snuggled against her big sister's side, half-asleep from exhaustion but far happier than she had been in days.

One arm around Dawn's shoulders, her fingers stroking through her sister's hair, Buffy's cheek was resting against the top of Dawn's head, Faith sitting by the bed, all of them smiling as Giles approached the bed.

"Hey," Dawn croaked, her throat still sore.

"H-how are you feeling, Dawn?"

The teenager sniffed hard. "Kinda ill," she replied, pausing to blow her nose with the sound of a small trumpet. "But I'm back here and I got blankets and chocolate. I'm gonna be fine."

"That's wonderful," Giles smiled at her, sitting down on the chair beside the bed. "I am curious, though about how..."

"I got out? Evil creepy guy's wife."

"Narcissa?"

Dawn nodded, opening her mouth to say something when Madam Pomfrey flitted in and popped a chunk of chocolate between Dawn's lips, then lifted her chin to close her mouth.

"Don't get used to this," Buffy murmured as Dawn beamed broadly at Pomfrey, happily munching on the chocolate.

"Sure," Dawn said when she swallowed the pieces. "Anyway, yeah. Mrs Malfoy came into the roomie thing they were keeping me in and asked me how I got there. I told her about the necklace thingie and she magiced it to her and did some weird chanty thing, then gave me it and poof! I was Hogwarts-y again!"

"She did not come with you?"

"Did you see any tall blondes with me?" Dawn challenged snuggling closed to Buffy and pulling blankets around her. "She told me she had to stay and that Dumbledore would be expecting me."

"Which explains why he knew that we had to drop the portkey, for the second when the defences were dropped," Giles nodded at once. "I'm assuming that she contacted him by floo."

"Actually," Dumbledore's voice interrupted, as the Head Master approached the bed with Anya by his side. "We can keep tags of incoming portkeys. Narcissa was aware of the correct procedure for the opening of defences to a friendly arrival, while I doubt that Lucius would be. In my estimate, Dawn would have been holding the portkey for approximately five minutes, if I am correct."

"Yuh-huh," Dawn nodded. "The creepy guy's wife said she was gonna have to make it look like I escaped because I was actually a witch and not just the Slayer's sister, but I went poof before she could tell me what she was gonna do."

"How are you, Dawn?" Anya asked, her hand resting on Dumbledore's arm. "Albus was concerned about you. We had to stop playing Twister because he was so worried, so you had better be all right, so we can go back to our game!" 

Dawn, Buffy, Faith and Giles all stared at the former demon, then the Head Master and suddenly understood why he had such a prominent beard and hair - it hid whether he was embarrassed or grinning like a lunatic.

"What?"

"You're saying that Professor Dumbledore plays twister?"

Anya grinned coyly up at the old wizard, patting his arm as he shook his head, chuckling. "Yes," she replied amiably. "He's remarkably flexible for someone of his age. And not just for twister."

Buffy blinked. Dawn's eyes grew round. Faith's lips curled in a smirk. Giles covered his mouth with a hand, coughing to disguise a snort of mirth.

"Buffy," Dawn said in a strangely squeaky voice. "How do I get the scary pictures out of my head?"

"Demon girl being generous with the visuals again?"

"Spike!"

Sauntering around the bed, Spike grinned down at the girl as he sat down on the edge of the mattress and raised a hand to muss her hair. "How goes it, Nibbles? You doing all right?"

Flinging her arms around him, Dawn nodded wordlessly.

"Get the feeling that means she's glad to see me?" the vampire half-laughed, draping one arm around the teen, who was clutching at him as if he were her favourite teddy bear. "And tell anyone I've been seen making with the hugs and I'll kill you all."

Sniffing hard, Dawn grinned up at him. "There's my bad ass Spike."

"S'right, Bit. You okay?"

"Gonna be good when I get rid of this cold thing," she replied, coughing. "And I'm gonna be even better when you and Buffy and everybody finds Malfoy and beat him to an icky goo."

Blue eyes rose to hazel. "Think you can deal with killing a human, Slayer?"

"I think I can make an exception," Buffy replied. "But, for now, let's just get Dawnie back on her feet and to full..."

"DAWNIE!"

The teenager in the bed's head jolted up at the voice from the end of the ward and she practically bounced out of the bed. "Duncan!" she squealed, as the boy ran the length of the ward. "Duncan! You're alive!"

"Seems so, aye," Duncan laughed, squeezing past Dumbledore and Anya and diving onto the bed, scrambling towards her and hugging her tightly, Spike easing back to avoid the crush. Sitting back, he looked her up and down. "You all righ'?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"I'm so sorry for leadin' that git tae yer room."

"Imperius?"

"Aye."

Dawn made a dismissive gesture, as he sat back on his heels. "No biggie," she said breezily. "You're all alive and I'm all alive too and look!" She pointed to a bowl on the bedside cabinet, which Buffy immediately handed to her. "Chocolate! Lots of it."

"Dae ye have any of the stuff with the raisins in it?"

"Ew! That's gross! If you have chocolate, it has to be normal!"

Withdrawing from the bedside, as the two teenagers started sorting through the bowl of chocolate, Giles approached the Head Master. "Teenagers really are remarkably resilient, aren't they?" he murmured.

Dumbledore smiled slightly, watching the pair on the bed. "They are more resilient when they have their friends with them," he replied, then looked down at Anya. "Shall we adjourn?"

Glancing at him, Anya walked her fingers across the back of his hand. "Albus, do you have any chocolate?"

"Whatever for, my dear? Are you ill?" Mischievous brown eyes met bright blue, which widened in surprise. "Oh!" With a quick look around the group, he cleared his throat. "Well, now that everyone is settled and content, we had best depart."

Faith chuckled, shaking her head. "Well, I'll be," she murmured, eyes dancing with amusement. She flashed a wicked grin at the other Slayer. "B, looks like the old guy is gettin' more cookies than me!" 

With a moan of dismay as yet another lovely mental image assailed her, Buffy buried her head in her hands.

***

It had taken all Lucius' gifts of persuasion to stop the furious Glory from storming into the living room and ripping out their demon agent's spleen - assuming he had one - out with her bare hands.

The demon was the only survivor of the first attack on Hogwarts and had managed to snatch an owl to contact them, when he had escaped, but it had taken over a week and a half for him to make his way back to the Mansion.

To allow Glory to kill him would mean they would lose their only witness who might be able to provide them with crucial information.

Sitting nervously on the sofa, looking rather out of place, with a tea cup carefully held in one massive hand, the demon's deeply-sunken red eyes watching the Hell Goddess pacing, the ridge of spikes down its back bristling and shifting, a clear suggestion that it was uncomfortable. 

"Okay... I got this..." Glory said jovially, casually resting one hand on the back of the enormous oak chair that sat in front of the fire. "You're in the Great Hall... the Slayer shows... you do the fighting thing...yeah, this is all good stuff to know, but here's the thing," The chair smashed against the wall, splintering, and Glory snarled. "Where the hell is my key?"

The demon was on its feet, backing away nervously, babbling everything else he had seen in the hall.

"Whoa, whoa..." A curious look crossed her face. "The Slayer yelled at someone to get the key out?" The demon nodded slowly. "And then?"

The demon considered it, then cautiously replied.

Glory looked at her lover. "Think this could be right, Luce?"

"Well," Lucius approached the Goddess, whose pacing had ceased. "You said that it is possible for those who believe they knew the key to have their memories adjusted so they think the key is a person?"

"That's right, poodle, but that person ain't gonna fit in like a normal person would."

Lucius slowly nodded. "Then," he said, a speculative expression on his face which rapidly turned into a predatorial grin. "It makes perfect sense. My dear, I believe we have found your key."

_____________________________________________________

Author's Notes: *stares* I can't believe how quickly that chapter wrote itself, or how big it is. I mean, I had a vague idea about the plot, but eep! This was meant to be a simple, fill-in chapter and it turned into the largest one so far. And, you know, when Lucius is actually starting to repulse me (ie. the person who drools on his ankles), I think I might have made a justifiably slimy bad guy!

And, coming soon (knowing me) in the next chapter of The Eighth Weasley: Buffy's secret is out, word comes in from other allies, Glory and Lucius plot (I hate the bad guys - I must be ill. Normally I love them!) and the usual chaos ensues.


	55. Revelations

The Eighth Weasley - Chapter Fifty-Five

Revelations

Notes: This should be a nice, short chapter for once. I've just found several files which are half-finished chapters of the sequel to this. *stares* When the heck did I write sections of six chapters? Bloody hell... I told myself one stand-alone series of this would be enough (see 75 chapters for details), but meh! The sequel is just lying there. Ready. Waiting for the plot. Mind you, it is a way-into-the-future follow-up, which is mildly amusing ;) And I giggle over it already. Me like!

****

New notes: Wah! I started writing this with the intention of having at least one tiny chapter. It didn't happen. When I hit five pages without actually getting to the main scenes... wah! I blame the dissertation - it gives me a word limit. This fic doesn't, so I go mad with it. *le sigh*

Anyway, back to this chapter. Not much happening. Thank God! **(Meh!)**

_____________________________________________

On entry to the Great Hall at breakfast through the side door behind the staff table, the day after Dawn's return, Buffy Summers couldn't shake the distinct feeling that she was being watched. 

Perhaps, she pondered, that was because every single face of every single pupil was directed at her.

Sliding into a seat next to Giles, she flashed a half-smile at him. "Hey." Green eyes turned to her and she was surprised to see that he looked strangely worried. "What? Is there some demon attack on the way?"

"I have some rather bad news for you," he replied, leaning closer to her. "Many of the pupils who witnessed your mode of defence against the two demons in your class have spread the word and the student body became rather curious about why you were deemed qualified to be a Professor when you clearly have no magical ability, but do have an abundance of strength."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that they do not class the Ravenclaws as intelligent because they always carry books everywhere," her Watcher said tersely. He looked out at the hall. "When they wish to find something out..."

"Researchers, huh?" Buffy murmured, a headache rapidly building as she started to understand what he was saying. Rubbing her forehead, she grimaced. "How many of them know?"

"I-I'm afraid it is very hard to keep such a thing secret for a long period, when one person discovers something of interest about a Professor. As you might recall, you and your friends used to delight in speculating about Principal Snyder. Pupil speculation about teachers seems to be an ageless tradition."

"Great," Buffy groaned. "So basically, they all know I'm slaygal?"

"Actually," a voice cut in from her other side, one of Lorne's green-skinned hands patting her arm. "There's a little group who seem to think you're Wonder Woman and that you'd look cute in the outfit."

Shooting a look at the demon, who grinned at her, Buffy groaned. "Lorne! I so did not need to hear that, thank you! Horny boys are bad enough! Horny boys with comic book women fetishes I do not need to know about!"

"Would you prefer Xena, sweets?" he offered, sipping his coffee, a wicked twinkle in his scarlet eyes.

"I would prefer if you would stop telling me what my students think of me, Lorne!"

Red eyes darted across the staff table, then looked back at Buffy. "Who said anything about students, hon?"

Buffy followed the direction he had looked in and immediately, colour flooded up her face at the sight of Snape. Whipping back around to face Lorne, she pointed at him in warning. "Lorne, I do NOT want to know what he's thinking either!"

"Not even if it..."

"Lorne!" Leaning closer to him, she yanked him towards her by the front of his suit, trying to ignore the grin on his face. Lowering her voice to a pitch and tone, which she hoped sounded more threatening than pleading. "You keep talking and I'm going to show you just how I managed to live on a Hellmouth for five consecutive years."

"And lose old bright-eyes another Professor?" He winked, his own voice equally low. "Your secret is safe with me, sweets."

Buffy glowered at him, blushing furiously, and turned her attention back to Giles, forcing a wan smile on her face. "So, Giles, they all know?"

"Unless you-you-you wish to strategically deny it?"

"Giles, at least twenty of them saw me kick a super-big demon across a classroom and kill another one with a sword and my bare hands," she said, a note of impatience in her voice. "You better have a very good denial lined up for me."

"I'm astounded by your trust in me," Giles muttered, receiving a smirk from her. "I-I believe that maintaining secrecy would be somewhat pointless at this juncture. After all, their world is already concealed, so normal humans would still be oblivious."

The Slayer nodded pensively, turning her attention to breakfast, trying to ignore the hundreds of faces staring at her. 

"I guess it would be kinda easier to tell 'em the truth and you never know," A grin crossed her lips. "It might scare some of 'em into handing their work in on time. Or at least give better excuses." Giles directed a sceptical look at her as she jabbed her knife into the butter dish. "Or not."

"You overestimate the fear you would inspire," he said, reaching for his cup of tea and taking a deep gulp of it. 

"What about Faith? Do they know she's a Slayer too?"

Giles shook his head. "Not that we are aware of."

"Maybe they should be told about it," she remarked, taking a bite of the roll she had just buttered. "I mean, yeah, it'll look kinda weird to have two Slayers in the school, but it would be like the full set, since we have the demons and vampires already."

Giles removed his glasses, wiping them on his tie. "I suppose it might warn them that caution is recommended," he agreed pensively. "After all, all of them have been made aware of the demon attacks. They may feel safer as well."

"And Faith and I have been kinda outta condition..." she added innocently, tapping the edge of her knife against the side of her plate. "Maybe we could show 'em just how two Slayers do the work?"

Green eyes met hazel. "You have been planning this for some time, haven't you?"

"Only since Faith showed up," Buffy grinned at him. "We've only been one-on-one a couple of times and she's the best sparring partner I've had. I think it'll help if we can both get back in shape together. Having an audience'll only make it more fun."

"And does Faith know about this?"

Looking down at the table where the American group were sitting, chatting with one another, Buffy smiled. "Not yet," she replied. "But she will and I'm betting that she'll think it's a great idea."

***

"Think D is copin'?"

The American group seated at the table shared a communal look in the direction of Dawn, who was - once again - sitting with Duncan and his classmates, talking animatedly about something, a smile on her face.

"She looks like she has recovered well," Wesley said, then added, with a self-depreciating smile, "Although, if I recall correctly, I was never an expert on the way the mind of a teenage girl worked."

Willow grinned at him. "I'll say," she retorted. "You were way worse than Giles and that's saying something."

"Word of advice for you on the way a man's mind works, Red," Gunn muttered, leaning towards her. "Don't mention a guy's bad points in front of him, even he's talkin' about them himself."

Wesley flashed a wounded look at his friend. "I can take criticism," he said.

"You're a lousy kisser?" Cordelia offered from beside Xander, a grin on her face. It had come as a great relief when a potion had been provided, which allowed her some measure of control over her visions, at least for the time she was at Hogwarts. 

Since then, her mood had improved a great deal.

"Aside from that."

"Hold on a second," Xander interrupted. "You? Him? Kissed?"

"Yeah," Cordelia flashed an impish look at him. "Twice. Why?"

"Twice?" Xander echoed, staring at her, the look of increasing horror spreading on his face. "TWICE? When? What? How? What? And ew! Take a moment to deal with the age gap!" 

"Take a pill, already!" Cordelia swatted him on the leg. "Once, because, hello! End of the world impending and the two of us were alone! That's always kinda sexy... or it is until you have mind-splitting visions about it... but anyway! Yeah! He was there, I was there, it happened. And then once, in L.A. I was trying to get rid of my visions."

Xander looked at Wesley, who had a lop-sided grin on his face, then back at Cordelia. "So you two never really had a thing? Not that I care, but it's just you... and him... ew!"

"He still gets that way, huh?" Faith remarked with a grin, both elbows propped on the table, as she popped a piece of bagel into her mouth. "Xander, you gotta deal with it, Cordelia is a big girl now. She probably got all kinds of smoochies from all kindsa gorgeous, hunky actors."

Xander turned helpless puppy eyes to Cordelia. "Um..."

"Faith, that was just mean," the Seer chastised, resting her head on Xander's shoulder.

The Slayer grinned. "Yeah," she admitted. "But it was fun."

"And for your information, no, there have been no hot actor-smoochies. The only smoochies I really had lead to big old demon pregnancy," The horrified look only got worse. "And I probably shouldn't have mentioned that. Can we please change the subject to... anything else?"

"How about you, Red? How's that girl-on-girl action workin' for ya?"

Willow almost choked on the piece of toast she was chewing. "Faith!"

"What?"

"I think she wishes to discuss sex because she isn't getting any," Anya offered, sipping from a large mug of black coffee. "I don't see why she should be allowed to, as I'm not allowed to discuss sex in front of the children."

"I second the motion," Wesley agreed immediately. "Sexual behaviour is a topic best left somewhere that is not the breakfast table."

"C'mon, Wes," Faith grinned at him. "Where's your sense of fun? Any news on how you're gettin' on with that cute little Flitwick guy? He was checkin' you out in a big way in London."

Wesley made an incoherent squeaking sound in his throat, while Willow really did choke on her mouthful of food. Gunn slapped her on the back, shaking his head at the beaming Faith.

"You are one crazy girl," he remarked, grinning.

"I get this way when I'm in withdrawal," she replied with a shrug. "You get me laid with someone - and I'm willin' to take anythin' at this point, with the exception of vampires, cos that would be B's territory - and I'll be back to my usual, charmin' self." All eyes went to Wesley and Gunn. "Except them."

"What about tall, dark and cranky, then? He'd be a challenge, but I think he needs it." Willow suggested with a nod and grin in Snape's direction. "Maybe if he got laid, he wouldn't be such a jerk all the time."

"Well, he's gotta be hidin' somethin' special under all those robes..." Faith agreed, appraising the Potions Professor.

Anya almost sprayed a mouthful of coffee all over the table. "Oh no! You can't have sex with Professor Snape!" she exclaimed shrilly. Unfortunately, it was loud enough for much of the High Table and at least twenty students to hear. 

"Nice goin', An," Faith smirked, as Cordelia moaned and Xander hid his face in his hand. Gunn and Wesley both looked like they were pretending to be strategically deaf, while Willow was having a staring match with her toast. "Looks like old Cranky-Britches is kinda peeved you think he's unbonable."

Indeed, Snape was staring across at the table, his expression a combination of amusement, surprise and downright bewilderment. Shaking his head, he turned back to his own breakfast.

Meanwhile, Giles was smothering his laughter with a hand, Buffy was staring at Anya in horror and Lorne was taking a very intense and close interest in the mug in his hand.

"Well, I was simply thinking that you would not be compatible with him," Anya said determinedly, tilting her chin. "After all, he... well, he is not interested in you. And Albus is not interested in you either!"

Faith smirked. "Don't worry, Anya, I wouldn't dream of takin' Dumbledore for a ride." Pitiable moans went up from those within hearing range, which made her grin even more widely. "As for Cranky-Britches... I do like a challenge."

"Oh no, you don't," Anya corrected. "You really, really don't."

"So you get two and I get none? That's kinda unfair..."

Anya leaned towards the Slayer, across the table. "I'm not interested in Snape. I just know that you would not be... compatible with him. He prefers people with..." The ex-demon looked around wildly. "Smaller breasts! Your breasts are too large!"

"Never had complaints before."

Shaking her head, Anya sighed. "Very well," she said. "Try to make him have sex with you. He won't."

Faith grinned. "Is that a challenge, An?"

"No," Anya replied bluntly. "It's me saying that I know for a fact that he won't have sex with you." 

"We'll see," the Slayer said, looking towards her target. It was way beyond time to have a little fun and if he was gonna be a challenge, all the better. She hadn't had a real challenge in a long time.

***

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Blue eyes rose from the book on the table. "Hmm?"

Minerva McGonagall, armed with scrolls and textbooks, looked down at the vampire who had taken up residence in her chambers since his own room had been practically torn asunder by his Sire. "May I know what is so interesting?"

"Would you believe me if I said Playboy?" A dark eyebrow rose. "And I'm guessing that would be a no."

"Billy, if you dared to bring such a thing into my rooms..."

"To add to your already extensive collection," he added, innocently, looking back down at the book, ignoring her harrumph of righteous indignation. "Don't worry about it, Minnie. I won't breathe a word."

Snorting, Minerva walked across the room to pull the curtains open, allowing a spill of sunlight in, which sent the vampire scrambling off the chair, yowling obscenities at her, his book clutched to his chest.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Billy," she said unapologetically. "Did the nasty sunlight hurt you?"

"You're a bitch, Minnie."

Turning to face him, she smirked. "It took you so long to realise?"

Holding his book against his chest with his left arm, the vampire looked at his right hand, as if considering something important. "I can't decide which is ruder, Minnie," he said. "This," He raised his middle finger. "Or this." He raised two fingers with a polite smile.

"Such a tame response," Professor McGonagall laughed. "What a disappointment."

Spike pulled a face at her. "Well, if you'd given me more warning that you were planning on trying to turn me into a crispy critter, then I would have had more time to come up with a decent insult... and I'm working on an empty stomach here, so gimme a bloody break!"

"Bloody break... did you come up with that all by yourself, Billy?" 

Blue eyes twinkled, but the vampire twisted his face into a scowl. "And people think I'm evil one in this relationship," he grumbled, skirting the patch of sunlight on the floor to fling himself down on the couch. 

"Just because you have bad teeth does not mean you're an evil fiend," Minerva said in a sage tone. "After all, everyone knows yours nothing but a big fluffy puppy." 

"Minnie..."

She flashed a wicked look at him. "What are you going to do, Billy? Bite me?"

His face rippled into his vampire planes. "I might well do that," he retorted.

"Promises, promises," McGonagall tossed back at him, rolling her eyes at the snarl he directed at her, then smiled at him. "So, are you actually going to tell me what that is you're reading?"

Sniffing in an indignant fashion, the vampire looked down at the book. "It's my Welcome to Hogwarts present from Twinkle," he replied. "Not that you would know anything about it."

Approaching the couch, the Deputy Head Mistress looked down at the book, a look of astonishment crossing her face. "Billy... do you know what that is?"

"Yeah, Min," he replied with exaggerated slowness. "It's a book, innit?"

"Cocky twit," she snapped without malice, sitting down beside him and leaning beside him to study the pages. "I had heard rumours that Albus had discovered it, but I didn't realise that... well..."

"That he would give it to a known blood-sucking fiend?" Spike suggested dryly, raising flaming golden eyes to green with a quizzical expression. "It's not like I'm exactly the vampire I was..."

"But were you ever really that vampire, Billy?"

"What are you on about? Of course I..."

"Billy," Minerva gave him a measured look that felt like it penetrated to his heart, frightening in its intensity. "Really?"

Spike looked down at the book pensively. Yes, he had cultivated the personality of the railroad-spike- and torture-loving vampire, but his initial nature had been that of his human self. 

It had only initially been to please Drusilla that he had turned to torture.

Of course, then he had discovered the purgative effect of torturing people who reminded him so very much of the people who had mercilessly tormented him while he had been human and it had been so very addictive and empowering.

"Minnie, you have just reminded me why I don't like you," he said firmly.

"And why is that, my dear blood-sucker?"

The vampire scowled. "Because," he said, clapping the book shut and dropping it onto the floor with a weighty thump. "You make me think and everyone knows that's a dangerous thing to do."

"Yes," she agreed seriously, as the vampire laid his head on her shoulder. "Perish the thought you might actual produce a coherent sentence." Raising a hand, she ran her fingertips across the vampiric ridges of his face. 

A low growl escaped Spike's throat, his face smoothing into its more familiar, human planes. "One of these days, I'm gonna bite you, Min," he cautioned, snapping at her fingers. "I'm gonna kill you all dead."

"Of course you are, Billy," she agreed amiably. "And, as you can tell, I'm quivering in absolute terror." 

"You could at least pretend to be a little bit scared..."

Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, his head still resting on hers, Minerva smiled. "And spoil my fun?" she said, laughing. "Oh no, Billy. I prefer to be able to ritually humiliate you."

"Daft cow."

"And proud of it."

***

"Oh bloody marvellous!"

Reclining against the arm of the couch in her husband's study, her legs tucked up beneath her, Narcissa raised her eyes from the ancient book of dark magics that she was studying. "Problem, darling?" she inquired.

According to what her pose told her husband's eyes, she was aiding him and his precious Goddess as much as possible. To the eyes of anyone else, she was pretending to read with such intensity it was night convincing.

Throwing down a scroll of parchment on his desk, Lucius savagely pushed his chair out from the wide structure, sending it crashing onto the dark wood of the floor. "I do not believe this!"

Marking the page of the book with her fingertip, Narcissa twisted where she sat to look across at him. "Lucius?"

A strained smile was flashed in her direction. "Nothing for you to worry about, my dear," he said, although the paleness of his face belied his words. "It is just that we had a... high quality weapon on special order. It seems that it has been... acquisitioned by someone else."

"Oh dear," Narcissa murmured, lowering her eyes to hide the glitter of amusement, her lips twitching inexorably upwards. "Do you know who would do such a thing?"

Scowling at the parchment, Lucius stalked over to the window, pressing a gloved hand against the frame and looking out on the morning light spreading across the winter-glazed grounds of the Manor. 

"I have a suspicion," he replied, his hand clenching into a fist. "Flitwick was with them, so it would apparently be Dumbledore's envoy. Three muggles, two of whom were last seen in Los Angeles."

"Friends of your Slaughterer?"

"Slayer, dearest."

"Of course," Narcissa made a dismissive gesture with her hand, shaking her head at him. "Slayer, Slaughter, it's all the same to me. She's just a silly little girl without even a wand to defend herself."

"You mustn't forget that she had supernatural powers, dear."

Narcissa sniffed, returning to her book, smoothing a page with one hand. "Strange," she murmured, certain her husband was listening to every word. "That you and your Goddess are both so intimidated by a girl. Are you so certain of Glory's power?"

"I have witnessed her power, _dear_," Lucius' tone hardened and Narcissa glanced at him, rounding her eyes in innocence, knowing it would be unwise to have him angry with her. "The Slayer has aid that we did not expect."

"But you should have, my husband," Turning to face him again, Narcissa drew a patient, yet disappointed look to her face. "Your Goddess poses a threat to wizard and muggle-world alike. Surely you didn't think Dumbledore could resist poking that overly long nose of his in."

"True enough," Lucius agreed slowly, approaching the couch. "You have a gift for viewing the grander picture, my dear, as always." Sitting down on the couch, facing her, he raised his hands to cup her face. His fingertips brushed her temples. "Are there any plots brewing inside?"

"Nothing of interest, Lucius," she replied, her eyes closing as he nuzzled her jawline, one hand moving down her body. "Just a curiosity about just who you might be facing along with the Slayer. You said Rupert was present... what of the infants who were by his side?"

Lucius pulled back abruptly, eyes widening. "The little witch... Weasley! The eighth Weasley brat! She was in attendance..." Pushing back off the couch, he rose and made his way back to the desk. "Damnit!"

"Dearest?" Narcissa hoped she sounded as innocent as she hoped.

"I had my previous issues of the Daily Prophet destroyed only a few weeks ago, because they were taking up too much space."

"Oh dear. You mean you won't be able to find your information?" How she said it convincingly, Narcissa never knew, but apparently it did seem appropriately realistic and Lucius sighed, bowing his head over the desk, hands spread on the surface.

"If only you had mentioned the Weasley brat earlier, darling," he said, shaking his head grimly. "I would have had no trouble in acquiring information about her from the back issues of the paper."

Narcissa shook her head seriously. "If you had only asked for my aid sooner, dear Lucius," she sighed. "Alas, you have been distracted."

"Indeed," Lucius agreed grimly. "And I am beginning to believe that the distraction is more trouble than she is worth."

Turning back to her book, Narcissa couldn't help but smile coldly. 

***

Snape hated that class.

Oh, how he despised them.

It was almost as if the fates had conspired to get every single one of his worst pupils, then placed them all in on class combining Hufflepuffs and Slytherins, all of whom hated each other with a passion.

Every time they attended one of his classes, at least two or three would end up in the Medical wing, due to some potion that had somehow gone awry, uncaring about the housepoints being lost.

It always was a blessing to have the hour-long respite of lunchtime after the class, wherein he could retire to his office and resist the urge to introduce his skull to the wall, while the house elves cleared up the classroom.

Making his way across to the hidden doorway in the wall, he opened it and stepped into the room, leaving it slightly open as always so he could keep tabs on what the house elves were doing. 

A large pile of scrolls on the desk demanded his attention and he sighed, sitting down and drawing them towards him, faint fingers of light poking through the narrow windows along the top of the wall, not much but sufficient for him to work.

In his classroom, he could hear the crackle of House Elf magic and glanced that way occasionally, as the desks - eaten away by potions - were replaced and repaired, the floor and walls cleaned up.

"Good afternoon, Miss!"

Snape groaned at the House Elf's words, wondering who would have the damnable timing to visit during his one brief respite for the day. Turning his eyes towards the door, he couldn't help being a little surprised to see the dark slayer there.

Jerking his chin down in a brief nod of acknowledgement, he tried to contain his confusion. "Good afternoon."

Faith leaned against the doorframe of the office, eyeing him in a way that made him shift uncomfortably. He had tried to avoid her after their first encounter, her attitude, her utter... dominance rather unsettling. "How's'it hangin', Sev?"

It had the effect of a thousand nails scraped over a thousand blackboards.

"I do not recall granting you permission to call me by my name," he said coolly, confusion rapidly being overwritten by irritation. "I am somewhat busy at present. I would be greatly obliged if you would depart."

"And leave you all on your lonesome in the dark here?" She pushed off from the doorframe and closed the door behind her. "You sure you don't want me to keep you company for a while?"

Glancing at her out of the corner of his eyes, Snape pressed his lips together, then forced his voice into a civil tone. "I prefer solitude," he said grimly. "Now, if you would depart, I would be most grateful."

Strolling towards him, she grinned in a way that gave Severus the distinct feeling of being a rabbit in the sights of a wolf. "You sure that's what you want, Sev?"

"I am certain it is," he replied, glaring at her as she perched herself on the edge of his desk, right beside him. "I do have a good deal of work to be done. I do not have time for casual..."

His words were cut off when she smashed her mouth against his, his eyes widening in shock.

Frozen in a combination of horror and panic, he did nothing to stop the dark Slayer hopping into his lap, her small yet terrifyingly strong hands pressing his shoulder back against the chair.

Pulling back, she smirked at him, her eyes glittering between dark lashes. "You gonna just sit there or do I gotta do something to get a reaction?"

A strangled sound of protest escaped Snape's throat when she started to gyrate her lower body against his, ululating with the flexibility of a serpent. His hands snapped up, trying to force her back.

It went without saying that the girl knew what she was doing with her body, the wriggling stimulating in a way that he would rather it wasn't.

"Desist!"

Dark brown eyes studied him, a smirk still in place on her lips. "Uh huh?" 

She ground her hips down on his. Severus tried to push her back, but she had the advantage and his hands slipped to the arms of the chair, his face tightening in a glare, his hands locking around the arms of the seat.

"I said," he growled out, his tone savage. "Desist!"

Looming over him, her hands gripping his shoulders, she smirked again. "Is that what you really want, Sev?" she demanded, pushing her hair back from her face with one hand.

"Yes, damn you," he spat. "I am not interested in your games."

Genuine surprise crossed the Slayer's face and she sat down on his legs, cocking her head and studying him. "Weird," she observed, shaking her head. "You're the first guy who's said no."

His hands still fastened around the end of the chair arms, Severus' cheek muscles tightened in a humourless smile. "As much as I am fascinated by this, remove yourself from my person. Immediately."

"You're really not interested, huh?" Faith swung off, rolling lightly onto her feet and gave him a curious look. "Gotta say I didn't think Demon-Girl was gonna be right about you, but there ya go."

Nodding stiffly, he turned his attention back to the scrolls. "I would suggest that you depart hence," he said quietly, his voice shaking slightly, hoping and praying that she would take the hint and leave him to his work. "And if you see Summers, might you inform her that I have a remedy she may be interested in."

With a mock-salute, the Slayer touched her fingers to her brow. "I'll let her know you're lookin' for her, Sev," she replied, then strolled out of the office, leaving the door to the classroom hanging open.

Whatever thoughts he had had, in regards to work, were shot to pieces and he was still sitting and staring blindly at the scrolls when he heard another set of footsteps enter the classroom, his head whipping around as a small, slender figure appeared in the doorway.

"You wanted to see me?"

His throat tight, Severus nodded, making a jerky motion with one hand, indicating that she ought to approach her. "Your... friend paid me a visit, Summers," he said, surprised by how calm his voice was.

"Faith?" The small blonde woman approached him, pausing by the arm of his chair, a concerned look filtering onto her face. "Oh God... what did she do, Snapey?" A muffled sound escaped Snape's throat and Summers extended a hand, touching his shoulder cautiously. "Severus?"

Severus' eyes snapped to her face, widening. He had never heard her speak his name before. Catching the hand on his shoulder, he pulled once, catching her off-balance and jerking her straight into his arms.

The heat instigated by Faith was far from used and he claimed her mouth in a hungry kiss, one hand threading through her hair. An arm locked around him, her body twisting to straddle his thighs as she returned the kiss.

One of Summers' hands reached behind her, a sweeping motion, sending the scrolls, ink bottles and quills flying from the broad surface of the desk, glass shattering on the stone of the floor.

Outer robes rapidly dispatched, Summers' fingers rapidly tugged at the front of his robes, buttons tearing off, her muttered apologies ignored as she pulled him up, sitting on the edge of the desk, her mouth trailing off his, his hands everywhere.

"No!"

Hazel eyes, dark with need, stared at him. "What is it?"

He shook his head, panting hard, his hands braced beside her thighs on the surface of the desk. "We should not do this, Summers."

"No," she agreed, a slow grin crossing her lips, as she caught him by the front of his ripped robes and pulled him closer to her, her face inches from his. "We shouldn't. We really, really shouldn't." 

***

"Knock knock! Anyone mind if the tall, dark stranger pays a visit?"

"Sirius Black!" Giles was on his feet in a heartbeat, more than happy to push aside the papers he was working through. Hurrying over to the door of the staff room, he let the younger man in. "Thank you!"

Sirius raised a brow at the other man, then looked around the deserted staff room with a sigh. "Was hoping to catch Flitwick off guard," he commented, a wicked twinkle in his blue eyes. "But you... didn't know you swung that way, old man."

"If it means I get a break from marking the most imbecilic essays I have ever read, I do believe it's safe to say I would swing whichever way was necessary! And don't you give me old, you rogue." Gesturing Sirius towards the chairs, he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "What brings you back here?"

"The usual. Bringing word to Dumbledore. I was just up at the office and he's ordered a meeting in about an hour, during dinner," Sirius threw himself down on the couch in front of the empty grate, stretching out his legs. "Plus, I have some messages that have to be passed around, while I'm here."

"And you simply thought you would remain and irritate me until then?" Giles suggested mildly, replacing his glasses. 

"Irritate? Me? I can't imagine what gave you that idea!"

Giles merely smiled a knowing smile. "Well, once you are on the teaching staff, it is very difficult to prevent Professor Flitwick and Minerva from informing all of us of your school-time escapades."

"Can't trust them to keep that to themselves, can I?" Sirius sighed, then grinned. "I heard you were quite the mischief maker yourself."

Taking one of the seats near the couch, Giles sank into it, letting himself relax, aches spreading down his body. 

"I don't know who would be spreading such dreadful rumours about me," he sniffed primly, smoothing down his shirt. "Although..." A mischievous glimmer shone in his green eyes. "I don't suppose you know about the passage behind the statue of some man called Randolph the Mad?"

"Password being _revolucius_?" Sirius responded with a knowing look, which spread into a grin when the older man rolled his eyes. "What about the one behind the hump-backed witch?"

"Found it in first year," Giles replied. "I suppose you know all about the second floor corridor on the way to Gryffindor tower..."

"Wait a second... would that be the one behind the painting of Ingelbert the Wonky?"

Giles frowned, scratching his head thoughtfully. "Not unless they actually changed paintings in the thirty years since I left. Would it lead from the corridor, beyond the lavatories on the sixth floor, and come out by the Hufflepuff common room?"

"You actually _wanted_ to go near the Hufflepuff Common room?" Sirius stared at him in shock. "You really were a trouble-maker, weren't you?"

"It was sheer fate that lead us there," Giles said, his expression serious. "And how a handful of dungbombs happened to fall in the door when it was half-open I will never ever know."

"I'm sure," Sirius grinned boyishly. "You say this corridor was in the second floor corridor?" Giles nodded. "We must have missed it and hit another one that lead out onto the grounds."

"One would almost think that Professor Dumbledore wanted his well-behaved young Gryffindors to go roaming at night, wouldn't you say?" Giles suggested, unable to refrain from grinning himself.

"Perish the thought!" Sirius gasped, then sat up a little, his expression suggesting that he was wracking his brains. "What about West Wing, eighth floor, through the walls of the fifth toilet cubicle on the left?"

Giles smirked. "Leads to the chamberpot room in the basement. You'll have to do better than that," he countered. "Top of astronomy tower, third stone down under the sixth window along from the door, counting in a clockwise direction?"

"Damnit!"

"You're playing with the big boys now, Black," the former Watcher grinned. "Let me see what you've got."

***

Arm-in-arm, Willow and Hermione had just been on a walk around the lake with Xander and Cordelia, leaving the dark-haired pair to go and seek out Hagrid, who had invited them for dinner.

Their faces rosy from the winter chill that still clung to the air, scarves bound around their necks and woolly hats on their heads, they were both laughing as they hurried up the staircase towards the entrance hall.

With help from her lover, Willow had finally gained some control of her wandless magic and had spent the afternoon showing off tricks, sending balls of light dancing around her friends and shaping their misted breath.

Unfortunately, it had left grossly misshapen ice-statues littering the grounds. Willow was the first to admit that her idea of what a duck looked like was radically different from a normal interpretation, which had reduced Xander to laughing at her attempts, for which he had received a magically-directed snowball down his neck.

All in all, it had been a pleasant afternoon, Xander-squealing notwithstanding.

Hurrying across the floor of the Entrance hall, still chatting, both of them stopped short at the sight of two figures walking down the staircase, one of them talking nineteen to the dozen and the other grinning a little.

"Buffy! Dawnie!"

"Willow!" Dawn exclaimed, disengaging from her sister, who smile indulgently as Dawn bound towards the two young witches. "Willow, Professor Dumbledore's called a meeting and he said Sirius is gonna be there!"

"Sirius?"

"You know? Dog-guy?"

Willow cuffed her playfully across the head, Dawn ducking with a broad grin back at the witch. "I know who he is, doofus," she said with a tone of mock-reprimand in her voice. "What's he doing here?"

"Being all sexy and stuff?"

"Dawn Summers!" Willow exclaimed, scandalised.

Pouting, the teen barely managed to mask her grin. "Well he is!"

"Buffy, did you hear what your sister just said?"

"Hmm?" Buffy blinked, apparently coming out of a very pleasant daze. "Huh?"

Hermione nudged her lover. "Looks like someone's head is in the clouds," she said in an undertone. "Do we dare to think that someone may have been rubbing Buffy up the right way?"

"Hermione!" Buffy squeaked, going scarlet.

"And who," Willow added, grinning naughtily. "Has just arrived and is just good enough to eat?"

"Willow! I'm not doing anything! I didn't! With Sirius? No!" Three pairs of eyes exchanged knowing looks. "What?"

"Oh, come on, Buffy!" Dawn grinned at her sister. "You're all goofy and daydreamy and you only get that like when you've had major face-suckage and snuggles with your hunny and Sirius is the only way cute guy to show up here today."

A mortified look crossed the Slayer's face. "But I didn't!"

"Didn't Sirius or didn't anybody?" 

"Summers," a male voice spoke from the shadows near the stairs. "I do believe the Head Master insisted on you assembling your motley crew of friends immediately and bringing them all to the staff room. I do not recall him mentioning anything about loitering in the corridors." 

Buffy shot a grateful look in the direction of the darkness, from which Severus Snape emerged, robes flaring around him. "Snapey, you have no idea just how grateful I am that you showed up right now!"

Glittering black eyes scanned over the two witches and Dawn. "Did I interrupt some form of ritual humiliation?" There was a faint, barely even noticeable lift on one side of his thin lips. "How very... unfortunate."

Even Dawn looked slightly disturbed by the suggestion of a smile. "O... kay... you're being all creepy and stuff!" A dark brow rose. "More than usual! Stop it! Stop it or I'll sic Buffy on you!"

"I quiver in fear," the sneer returned to his voice and he pivoted on heel. Pausing briefly, he shot a look at the Slayer. "The meeting, Summers, if you would get a move on. I do believe it is all because of you, once again. Most... irritating. Some of us do have more interesting work to be getting on with."

Buffy pulled a face at him as he strode off. "Cranky bastard."

His voice floated back. "You have no idea."

***

"Seventh staircase down from the Ravenclaw Common Room?"

"It leads to the other side of the block. The wooden panel beneath the portrait of Uric the Oddball moves and lets you into the wall. For some reason, there's a statue of a badger in there. Could never figure that out. How about short cuts to Dumbledore's office from the Great Hall?"

"I thought this was supposed to be difficult, Black. Third painting from the left, behind the staff door, has a staircase, which leads directly to a hidden door, which opens just beside the gargoyle. How about the dungeons, between the Potions class and the storage chambers at the far end?"

"How long has this been going on?" Wesley inquired, looking across one of the tables at Gunn, who was watching the two men in front of the fire.

"I've been here ten minutes and they've been goin' since then," Charles Gunn replied, half-grinning. Giles and Black were practically in one another's faces, each trying to outdo the other's knowledge of Hogwarts. "Don't know how they know so much, but I'd bet it'd be real useful."

"Poke the third stone along from the fourth door on the left, five stones up. It should squeak and open a doorway." Black smirked, leaning back on the couch. "That the best you can do, old man?"

"Oh dear God, this is ridiculous!" Wesley moaned, dropping heavily onto the seat by the table and burying his head in his arms. "And to think that once, I might have even respected him."

"Pfft, right, Wes!"

Wesley didn't even look up. "Good afternoon, Faith," he mumbled around his shirt sleeves, the Slayer patting him on the head as she swung up to sit on the table, then appeared to take notice of Sirius Black, who had just been challenged with another puzzle of Hogwarts. "Who's the cutie?"

"I'm assuming that you aren't referring to Giles," her former Watcher muttered.

"Sure, Wes," Faith laughed, mussing his hair again, grinning at Gunn. "I mean, he's got the sexy mid-life-crisis thing goin' on for him. And I'm bettin' he knows a few tricks with his wand..."

"For the love of..." Giles spluttered, turning towards her. "Faith, do you mind? We are trying to hold a civilised conversation here!"

"You threatened to pull his hair when he almost got you, G," Charles grinned, the former Watcher glowering at him. "I dunno about you, but that don't class as a civilised conversation where I come from."

Giles sniffed. "Cretin."

Sirius, though, had noticed the distraction. "And aren't you going to introduce me to the charming young lady?"

"Lady? Charming?" Faith beamed at him. "Buddy, I like you already." Pushing off the table, she approached the couch and stuck out a hand, which Sirius leaned over and shook. "Faith."

"Sirius Black."

A slow grin spread across the dark-haired Slayer's face. "Ah, the cookie," she noted, looking him up and down. "Gotta say I'm agreein' with the vote we got goin' here," She squeezed his hand. "Nice to finally put a name to the salty goodness."

Blue eyes flicked sideways. "Giles, mind translating any of that?" The Watcher merely snorted and Sirius winced as Faith tightened her grip slightly. "Holy... ow! And again! Ouch! Grip!"

Yanking him up by his hand, bringing her face close to his, she gave him a sensual grin. "You want a translation, buddy," she murmured, deep brown eyes boring into bright blue. "All you gotta do is ask."

"Would I get one with my hand intact?" he asked, flashing his best debonair and I'm-not-in-pain-really smile at her.

"Guess I could deal with that," she replied with a laugh, releasing his fingers and climbing easily over the back of the couch to drop down next to him. "So, you're Sirius, huh? The girls have told me all about ya. Spiderman boxers, huh?"

Giles, Wesley and Charles all choked back bursts of laughter at the expletive that slipped past Sirius' lips.

Faith only served to make it worse, though, leaning closer to the black-haired man and adding, "Don't worry, buddy. Everyone has their own taste. I'm the kinda girl who likes to go commando, if you get my meanin'."

Blue eyes blinked at her.

"Sirius," Everyone in the room nigh yelled in surprise at Dumbledore's voice, a heartbeat before the Head Master slid through a hold that appeared in the wall beside the fireplace, landing on his feet. "I doubt you have ever met a young lady like Faith before."

Sirius nodded, blinked, then pointed at Giles. "Did you know about that one?"

"No. You?"

"Bugger! He wins!"

Dumbledore beamed at them, stepping aside as Anya catapulted out of the hole he had just emerged from, landing in a heap on the floor, padded from head to foot with pillows and cushions. 

"I do have the slight advantage of teaching here for almost seventy years as well as once being a student, Mr. Black," he added, helping Anya to her feet. "It does give one a slight advantage."

"And don't you worry about it, cutie," A small, strong hand was laid on Sirius' thigh sending his thoughts skittering to anywhere but the castle's hidden passages. "I'll be your consolation prize."

"Bloody hell! She moves fast! Got yourself a shag-monkey, then?"

"Shagmonkey?" Sirius echoed in a somewhat subdued tone, the hand moving further up his thigh and making it very, very difficult to think straight.

"Billy, language!"

Spike, in the doorway, rolled his eyes at the Deputy Head Mistress. "Whatever you say, Minnie," he drawled, strolling across the room to take the third chair by the fireplace, pausing briefly to stare at Anya. "Nice look, Demon-Girl."

"With Albus, they are necessary," Anya replied with a smug smirk, which set Giles and Wesley groaning.

Spike, though, grinned at her. "Yeah, bet you get a lot of problems with his old joints needing padding."

"Billy!"

"You never said I had to behave, Min!" he whined in a wounded tone.

"Like that would ever happen!" Dawn exclaimed as she barged into the room ahead of Snape, Buffy, Willow and Hermione, her eyes falling instantly on Sirius and Faith on the couch, her eyes flicking to Buffy. "Uh, you guys?"

"Hey, B!" Faith mock-saluted the blonde Slayer. "Cookies, huh?"

Buffy just shook her head. "Faith, you're crazy." She turned to Dumbledore. "Where are Cordy and Xander? I figured they'd be here."

"Dinner. Hagrid's," Willow put in, shuddering. "Better them than me. Hagrid's uber-sweet, but he has no idea that when you cook something, you don't just throw it right into the fire."

"K," Buffy acknowledged, then looked at Sirius. "So, what's the what?"

Sirius blinked, then seemed to realise he had missed his cue. "Oh!" Leaping to his feet, he looked around a wildly, then seemed to recall his purpose. "Right! Messages! I have messages! For people!"

"Ain't he talented, B?" Faith grinned lasciviously, running the toe of one boot up the back of Sirius' leg. "Gotta say I'm likin' the short sentence thing he has goin' on. No chance of him bein' a Mini-Wes." 

"Faith," Buffy chastised, laughing. "Let him be for a minute. We do actually want to know what he's talking about."

With a grateful look in Buffy's direction, Sirius started to speak, "I got an owl from Remus the other day. Apparently your Angel bloke showed up over there and the three of them are on their way back to help, picking up a few friends on the way."

"Wait up, sweeti..." Lorne stopped short as soon as he crossed the thresh hold, then beamed at Sirius. "Well, isn't this a fine day for the tall, dark and cute quota! And who might this be?"

"Urckle?"

"Sirius, Lorne. Lorne, Sirius," Buffy gestured from one to the other impatiently. 

"Demon?" Sirius blinked.

"Hey!" Lorne protested, an injured tone in his voice. "Do I walk in a say 'human'? I don't think so! Sweetie, you gotta do something about these insensitive guys you keep on hauling up! Angel was just as bad, but he's a greenophobic, the big sap! Bet he wouldn't have made so big a deal if I was black or red and scaly or somethin'! It's no fair to live in a world where people are jealous because you look good in gre..." He seemed to realise that every eye was on him. "And I should just shut up and let Mr Tact get on with what he was saying, huh?"

"We do need to know what is going on," Dumbledore agreed calmly. "Sirius, if you don't mind?"

"Um... yeah... right..." Tearing his attention from both the green demon in front of him and the dark-haired girl tracing the back of his leg with her foot, Sirius cleared his throat. "Yeah... Remus, Daniel and Angel-bloke are on their way. They would portkey, but Remus and Daniel think it might knock out their control of the wolf a bit, so they have to do it the muggle way."

"Daniel?" Willow gasped, sitting down heavily by one of the tables, Hermione immediately kneeling down beside her and clasping the red head's hands between her own. "Oz? Oz is coming back? Back here?"

"Oz?" Sirius looked to Dumbledore for counsel.

"Daniel Osbourne, Remus' companion, was Willow's partner for nearly three years," the Head Master said, looking down at Willow with concern. "Do you believe this may prove problematic, Miss Weasley?"

"I-I dunno," she replied, chewing on her lower lip. "I mean, I kinda figured we would see each other again, but not so soon... what if he gets way mad at me because I'm already..." She looked at Hermione. "I don't want to make him mad."

Rising on her knees, Hermione kissed her lover's forehead. "Don't worry," she said softly, lifting Willow's face between her hands and looking into the red head's eyes with a reassuring smile. "This is what he wanted you to find, remember."

Willow nodded, although still looked doubtful. 

"Love you, baby," she whispered, sliding her arms around Hermione. Her lover wasn't the only one to see tears sliding down her face and pulled Willow closer, kissing the side of her neck and embracing her tightly, protectively. 

Dumbledore looked away from them to allow them a moment. Buffy moved closer and placed a hand on Willow's shoulder for comfort, one of Willow's rising to grasp it, squeezing her friend's fingers.

"Do we have any idea of what time frame we are looking at, Sirius?"

"Remus said perhaps a week or two at most. They would travel by plane, but he mentioned something about Angel having problems there."

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore agreed. "Sunlight. I suppose it is safer for a vampire to travel in Daniel's van than it would be to... Sirius? Sirius, are you all right?"

"Vampire? Bloody hell..."

"Actually, mate," Spike waggled his fingers. "That's two vampires. One's a froofy ponce with bad hair."

"And the other one is Angel," Minerva McGonagall cut in smartly.

"Oi! Minnie! You cow!"

"How well you know me, Billy," Minerva smirked, then looked back at Sirius who looked like he had just walked in on an episode of the Twilight Zone. "And you have just been fondled by a Vampire Slayer."

"Another one?"

"You got me, baby," Faith blew a kiss up at him, grinning. Sirius looked from her to Buffy, then back. 

"I do believe we've confused him enough," Giles chuckled, shaking his head. "So, Sirius, will you be remaining shortly? At least for the grand battle."

"Battle?" Sirius echoed dubiously.

"Do I dare to ask what might be going on?" Snape spoke from near the door.

Dawn beamed at him. "Buffy and Faith are gonna kick each other's asses! It's gonna be so cool!"

"D, we're only gonna spar. No ass-kickin'." Dawn gave the dark-haired Slayer a knowing look and Faith relented and grinned. "Okay, maybe a bit of the ass-kickin', if B asks for it."

"Albus," Snape said conversationally, turning to Dumbledore. "Is it too late to market tickets and produce merchandise for this event? I do believe we could make a considerable profit from it."

Everyone in the staff room, bar Anya, Dumbledore and Buffy, stared at the Potions Professor as if he had grown a second head.

"Buffy," Dawn whimpered. "He's making funnies. Make him stop. It's creepy!"

Severus simply tilted his chin and smirked, as if he had just succeeded in reducing a whole class of Gryffindors to tears.

***

"You sure you're okay with this?"

Rolling her eyes at the blonde, Faith nodded, hefting her own choices of weapons: a quarterstaff in one hand and sword in the other. "How many times do I gotta tell you, B? I'm lookin' forward to kickin' your ass again."

"Again? What again?" Buffy gave the brunette a look. 

"Okay, maybe just kickin' your ass, then," Faith retorted, swinging the sword experimentally, checking the balance. "And hopefully, we're gonna finish without the knife-in-gut thing because that was pretty in a way that's not."

"No blood this time, k?"

"I can so work with that."

Armed with a quarterstaff of her own, Buffy's other weapon of choice was an axe, held loosely in her right hand.

Both of the young women were standing in the middle of the Great Hall, the students filtering in through the doors and taking up positions around them both, muttering and edging around to line the sides of the Hall. 

"Anymore coming, Head Master?"

"It appears not, Professor Summers," Dumbledore said from the dais, where he was sitting with a large contingent of the staff body, many of whom were curious about the chance to see two Slayers battle.

Nodding, Buffy shouldered her axe and looked around the hall, as Giles and Xander closed the doors. 

"You guys know what we are. Faith and I are Vampire Slayers, which means we're stronger and faster than any muggle," she spoke loudly enough for everyone in the Hall to hear. "And you have to know how dangerous we can be. There's a line marked around our fighting ground," She motioned to the white line Dumbledore had applied. "It'll stop things coming out, but you don't wanna be getting in here. Am I making myself clear?"

A wave of murmurs went around the hall.

"Get the feelin' they're not takin' you seriously, B?" Faith commented dryly.

Buffy smirked, looking around the hall. "Only a few of them have seen me fighting and I'm guessing most of the boys showed because we're wearing tight clothes," she said quietly. "I think this is going to be a shock for quite a few of them."

"My kinda shock," Faith said with a broad grin. "Wanna dance?"

"You bet."

Before the words had even left her lips, Faith's two weapons swung in from opposite directions, Buffy diving into a tuck and roll, coming up onto her feet, her own staff slashing out at Faith's legs, the Slayer jumping into a handless backflip.

She landed, only for Buffy's back swing to catch her ankles, knocking her flat, her body bouncing back with the momentum, Faith using her forearms as a quazi-springboard and flipping back onto her feet.

"Nice," she said, grinning and blocking an overhand swing with her staff, then a low blow with her sword, the force of the blow from Buffy's axe leaving the sword vibrating in her grasp.

Weapons locked, Buffy jerked her foot up between them, kicking Faith under the chin, the dark girl crashing back with the impact, but rolling and scissoring her legs out when Buffy moved in, sweeping the blonde's feet from beneath her, a swift slash of her sword sending Buffy's axe hurtling up into the air.

Reversing the blow, her sword met staff, which was whirled around in a sweeping blow, sending her blade skittering across the floor, as the axe clattered down on the other side of the hall.

"Good shot, B," Faith hissed between her teeth, as both of the Slayers rolled back onto their feet again, circling one another warily, armed only with their staffs. 

"You know me," Buffy shrugged, grinning, then launched a series of rapid attack shots, which Faith blocked with accuracy to match the blonde. "Gotta get the shots when you know you can."

"Yeah," Faith acknowledged, allowing the attack, as it drove her backwards. 

"You're trying to get to my axe, huh?" 

"Am I that obvious?"

Buffy laughed, ducking a savage block that would have decapitated a demon, the speed of the fight both exhilarating and liberating, so rare was it to find an enemy that proved a real challenge. "Well you have been out of the game a while."

"You sayin' I'm gettin' sloppy?"

"Getting?" Buffy's blow darted beneath Faith's defences, catching the dark-haired woman in the ribs, knocking her back a step. "You're already there!"

"I may be sloppy, B," Faith countered, grinning widely, as she returned the blow, catching Buffy under the jaw, forcing her into a flip. "But at least my roots aren't showing."

"And I so _know_ you did _not_ insult the hair!"

"Whatcha gonna do about it, B?" Faith laughed. "Never gonna get a guy with roots like that!"

"Hand-to-hand good enough for you?"

"You bet!"

The rapidity of blows and verbal attacks matched ideally, almost every inch of the floor covered at some moment or other, both girls panting and breathless, but grinning wildly at one another, the adrenalin surging through them.

As one, both of them tossed aside their staffs, moving into closer range for a fight that could easily rival the battle they had fought with one another only a couple of years earlier, only without the hatred spurring them.

"So... the hair..."

"Whose to say I can't get a guy with it looking like this?" Buffy caught Faith by the arm, giving her wrist a hard twist. Backing into the motion, Faith reversed it, flipping Buffy with her own body as leverage.

Crashing down on their backs on the stone floor, Faith tilted her head back to look at Buffy. "You're tellin' me you go someone?" she demanded, doing a handspring back onto her feet and twisting in the motion so she came up facing Buffy.

"Not exactly," Buffy's foot caught Faith in the middle of the chest, the impact enough to send a demon hurtling across the room, but the dark girl didn't flinch, grabbing Buffy's ankle and twisting, tossing Buffy back onto her back. 

"How not exactly?" Dodging a straddle kick with a flip over the blonde, Faith aimed a punch at Buffy's lower back, only for her wrist to be caught in a vice-like grip and to find herself on her back again. "How exactly is exactly anyway?"

"Faith, now is really not the time!" Swivelling, Faith slammed the edge of her rigid hand against the back of Buffy's knee, sending the blonde to her knees, catching her in a headlock as she dropped.

"What time could be better, B? Everyone's distracted!"

Slamming her head back against Faith's face, the launching the other girl over her shoulder, Buffy leapt back to her feet. "Yeah, but I don't want everyone hearing about it right this second!"

"So it's an it, then?" Faith was on her feet in a blink, both fists clenched in front of her chest. "You gettin' some deep down action?"

"Faith! The kids!"

"They can't hear, B," the dark Slayer laughed dodging a flurry of punches in a style that could only be compared to Neo in the Matrix, bending backwards and in the same moment thrusting the heel of her hand up under Buffy's breasts, sending the blonde careening backwards. "Old D didn't wanna risk me sayin' somethin' that might screw with the kids' heads."

Panting, pushing her hair back with one hand, Buffy shook her head. "I don't blame him," she said. "I'd wanna shut you up too."

"So I'm takin' that as a hell yes!" Diving at the blonde, they fell in a tangle, Faith's legs tangling around Buffy's to hold her still. "How was it, B? He get you squirmin' for him? Or is it a she? Red's changed teams... you got something you wanna tell?"

It was punctuated with a raw lick up her neck and Buffy yelled, tossing Faith off her body with a jerk of hips and shoulders. "Faith!"

"So that's a big no on girlie action, huh?"

"Way big no!"

Both of them scrambled back onto their feet, circling each other, fists raised almost in a pugilist's stance. 

"So... I'm guessin' a big not on the Sirius guy, because you gave me the A-OK on him..." Her words were punctuated with a scatter of punches and kicks which Buffy dodged and wove between, both of them peppering each other with blows.

"Can we just fight?"

"What's the fun in that, B? Gotta have the banter!" A punch on her nose silenced her for a heartbeat. "Oh, c'mon, B! I know it can't be old D. Demon-gal would kill you and I know no one can get in Cranky's pants..."

"What?!?"

Faith grinned. "An and I had a lil bet on," she dodged another blow, catching Buffy's fist in her own hand and twisting. "She said cranky wasn't interested. I said he was. Paid him a little visit and she was right."

"So it was you that got him all crazy!" Buffy let the momentum of Faith's twist on her arm carry her and smacked down on the ground, her feet kicking upwards and catching Faith under the chin.

"How would you know about..." Scrambling to her feet, Faith stared at the blonde, dawning on her face. "Holy shit, B! Check you out! Always with the broody, glarin' sons of bitches, huh?"

Unable to hide a grin, Buffy shrugged. "It's the flaring coat thing, I guess," she replied, in fighting stance. "You won't tell anyone, right?"

"Not a word to a soul or soulless, B," Faith returned the grin, both of the Slayers straightening up. "And I get the feelin' this fight would have been a whole lot messier if I had screwed with your boy."

"Damn straight," Buffy nodded, then looked up at Dumbledore, who raised his wand, the barrier around the floor shimmering away into nothing, leaving nothing but an awed silence hanging in the air.

Faith looked around with a smirk, hands on her hips. "Think we scared 'em?"

"I think so," Buffy laughed, shooting a half-glance towards Severus who, much to her amusement, looked utterly dumbstruck by what he - and the rest of the people in the Great Hall had witnessed. "Wanna go get something to eat?"

Looping her arm through Buffy's, Faith said, "Sure. Your ugly little elf-guy'll bring us anything we want..." Her eyes drifted to Sirius as they strolled towards the door of the Hall, the pupils parting before them. "Or anyone," she added with a lecherous grin.

"God, Faith," Buffy exclaimed, laughing. "Is that all you think about?"

Faith beamed at her. "Pretty much."

***

"Anything?"

"Sorry, darling," Narcissa replied with sorrow that was frighteningly convincing. She raised her eyes to Lucius on the other side of the room, where he was surveying the book shelves. "I doubt we'll find anything of use in these tomes." 

What she failed to mention to her beloved husband was that she had already read the necessary spell six times over and had manipulated the page, simply shifting a few pages around, although it had taken a painful amount of dark magic to do so.

"I'm gettin' bored, poodle," Glory groused. "I wanna get into that school and suck 'em all dry."

"We're _working_ on it, my _dear _lady," Lucius' voice was rigid and crisp. He sounded very much like he wanted to hit her over the head with something hard or strangle her or both. "If you could give us even a suggestion..."

"Luce," Blue-green eyes darkened in caution. "Don't you get ratty with me. I'm so over you and I need results. If I don't get my key real soon, I'm not gonna be happy and you know how cranky I can be when I'm not happy."

Narcissa flashed a look up at Lucius, who looked paler than usual. Sweat was beading his upper lip and he swallowed hard, licking his lips. "We are doing the best we can, my dear, but as we do not yet know what we are looking for..."

"Hello, dumbass? A spell! A spell to get past the security and let me squish every one of those puny mortals like ants!"

Lucius' thin lips tightened in a line, his eyes flashing. "Of course, my dear," he said coldly and precisely. "But, for now, why don't you entertain yourself by taking Narcissa shopping and I will search further?"

"Are you sure you would not be better at shopping, dearest?" Narcissa suggested in a sweet voice. "After all, I know every book in this library and will be able to search out the better ones."

Lucius cast a malevolent yet comprehending look at her. "Very well, my dear. Good luck," Turning to Glory, he extended a hand towards her. "And now, my Goddess, will you accompany me?"

Apparently Glory's bad attitude didn't extend to potential shopping sprees and she beamed at him. "Sure, hon!" Looping her arm through his, they both departed the room and as soon as Narcissa was certain they had left the house, she dropped the book she was reading.

Running to the desk, she picked up a sheet of parchment and hastily jotted down the details of the spell that Glory and Lucius intended to use to bring down the barriers around the school, if they found it, and added some details about the series of counterspells for such an attack. 

Signing with her initials only, she placed the parchment in an envelope and wrote the address of the recipient on the front in a delicate sweeping script, before hurrying to the family owlery, to find her own owl.

The open-windowed chamber was large and chilly, wind whistling through it and Narcissa clutched her shivering hands into her thick pullover. 

"Hecate?"

An Eagle owl swooped down from the rafters, landing with a clatter on the nearest window ledge, uttering a curious hoot. Narcissa could understand why. It was rare for her to send letters and rarer still for her to use her private owl.

"Take this to him, my Princess," she whispered, tying the letter to the bird's leg and placing a kiss on its head. "And stay there." Hecate hooted indignantly. "It's for your own safety and mine, Princess."

Hecate nipped her finger affectionately, turning with the graceless walking waddle of an owl, peering out of the window into the late afternoon light. Ruffling her feathers, the owl shuffled forward and with a last hoot, launched herself and her letter out of the window and into the sky.

Leaning on the window ledge until she could no longer see the owl, Narcissa exhaled a sigh of relief, knowing that she had provided at least a little aid. "She is in your hands now, Albus," she whispered, turning and departing from the owlery.

_____________________________________________________

Author's Notes: Bollocks. It happened again. What was meant to be a brief, filler chapter growed and growed and now, _this_ is the longest chapter in the series so far by almost a 1000 words. Tis frightening that I can write so easily about nothing specific! It was mainly the fight that took up space, though. I'm not very good at writing fight scenes, but that one just cried out to be done :) Plus, who can resist a dose of Sirius/Giles humour :D

Anyway, coming fairly soon, although I'm not sure how soon (Trip home, then to London to see Ian McKellen perform live) in the next chapter of The Eighth Weasley: Buffy does some contemplating, Severus finds himself in a bit of an awkward situation and Willow ponders. And lots of other stuff, no doubt, as usual :D


	56. Cold Comfort

COLD COMFORT

Notes: Had this idea a few weeks back and decided to write it now, while this pair are still warm in my mind. (18th Nov today). It got rapidly added to in January and February. Gyah. I really wish I hadn't started with this couple - they got imbedded in my head and won't leave me alone!

****

New Notes: YAY! A short chapter! *does a little jig*

________________________

"Where's Buffy?"

"Dawn was tired after the adventures of the last few days," Giles replied, motioning for Willow and Hermione to approach the long table that stood in the middle of the large room that was, most often, used as a training room for the two Slayers. It was already occupied, but two seats remained for the lovers. "Buffy is watching over her."

The red head nodded, approaching the paper-decked table, which was illuminated by the soft, white glow from gleaming balls of crystal that were hovering several feet above the table top. "Why the sudden need for a research party?"

"We have received new information," Albus Dumbledore said, raising his eyes from an ancient text. He was seated next to Anya, who in turn was flanked by Spike, then Minerva. "Apparently Glory and her aides are seeking out a particular dark spell to bring down the wards. We have been granted information about the counter-curse."

"Which doesn't seem to exist," Anya put in, with a note of bitterness. "I still think someone's trying to set us up, so we do something stupid, and then they'll break into the school and if we all die, then I'm going to say I told you so!"

Spike snickered. "You do that, Demon-Girl," he said, ducking a blind swat across the head from Minerva, who had her nose buried in the depths of a massive book with yellowed, stained pages and a thick, knobbly dark cover. "Oi!"

"Don't cheek your elders, Billy," the prim reply came.

"Elders? Ain't the vamp older than An?" Charles Gunn looked across the table at her in confusion, then at Spike, who smirked.

Anya sniffed. "I'm eleven hundred and twenty-two years old, Charles," she replied, making notes on a piece of parchment. "I'm older than everyone in this room. And the school, actually."

"Damn, girl! Lookin' good for your age!"

"Yes, well, that is what one will get when one spends eleven hundred of those years as a demon," Wesley laughed at the look on Gunn's face. "You mean we forgot to tell you about our ex-demon allies?"

Gunn shook his head, returning his attention to the weighty book in front of him. "I gotta say," he remarked. "Never thought there'd be a day when I'd be workin' with a demon, a vampire, an ex-demon and a whole buncha magic people."

"I coulda told you that, hon," Lorne said with a grin. "But already know that."

"Now, now," Giles chastised, knocking his knuckles on the top of the table. "I do hate to be the one to rush matters, but we really do have a good deal of work to do, if we are to find the necessary spells. I believe Albus has the name written down and I'm not even going to attempt to pronounce it..."

The sheet of parchment was passed around the table.

"Great," Willow muttered. "I hate those kinda spells. Kinda like gypsy curses, only backwards and with a lot more letters."

"If we do find it," Xander cut in, a puzzled look on his face. "How are you guys meant to do it, if you can't even say it?"

"There's bound to be someone who can say it," Minerva said with a pointed look in Albus' direction. The Head Master serenely ignored her, turning the page of the book he was reading. "Don't you worry, Mister Harris. It will all work."

"And if it doesn't, Minnie'll kick his arse before we all get toasted."

"Very reassuring, Spike," Hermione said, shaking her head and sliding into the seat next to Wesley and opposite Anya. Willow took the seat next to her lover. "You really know the best things to say in the worst possible situations."

The vampire gave her a look. "Do I have to remind you that I'm an evil bastard."

"Oh yes, Spike," Cordelia said dryly, glancing across the table at him from the far corner. "You're a real bad ass. A Deputy-Head-Principal-whipped bad-ass, whose a big brother to the Slayer and her sister." 

Spike sniffed with more than a touch of indignation. "Just what are you trying to say about me, Cordelia?"

"Nothing, bleach for brains," the Seer cooed with a mischievous smile. "Don't let the nasty thoughts hurt your poor, lonely brain cell."

Grumbling, Spike hunkered down over the book her was attempting to read. "I hate you all," he muttered petulantly.

Minerva laughed and patted him on the head. "Isn't he adorable when he gets into a bad mood?"

Spike just growled, then ruined the whole effect by sticking his tongue out.

***

"You gotta get some sleep, B."

Standing by the window of the bedroom, arms folded over her chest, Buffy watched the play of the moonlight over the grounds. The snows had finally melted away, but there was still a frostiness lingering on the grounds. "I can't."

The two Slayers and Buffy's younger sister had been transferred to another large room which was nearer Dumbledore's office than their previous one, in the wake of Dawn's return, lest Malfoy dare to try the same tactic again.

It was doubtful, but they had decided it was better to be safer than sorry and now, only the three occupants of the room, Giles and Dumbledore had been granted the information for their own security.

To actually reach the room, a hidden passage behind a painting had to be accessed, then the visitor would find themselves in a large, square chamber lined with twenty paintings. Only one of the paintings lead to the corridor where there room was found. 

The paintings changed their positions daily, to confuse matters more and the one that served as the door only recognised the occupants of the room, which - combined with obscure passwords Dawn regular came up with - made it near impossible for anyone to break in.

Needless to say, they were fairly secure.

Leaning up on her forearm in her own bed, her dark hair falling in loose swathes around her face, Faith studied her fellow Slayer with concern. "B..."

"I know, I know. It's not good for me, but I can't help it." Looking over in the direction of her sister's bed, Buffy exhaled a sigh. "I just keep thinking about what happened and wondering..."

Sitting up, Faith swung out of the bed, approaching the other girl by the window. She looked very un-Faith-like, wearing heavy fleecy pyjamas, far from used to the cold of the Scottish environment. 

"It all worked out, okay, B," she said softly, touching Buffy's shoulder. "Gettin' worked up about it ain't gonna help, if anything else happens, even if all that hocus pocus they worked out tonight helps." 

Bringing up one hand to rub over her face, Buffy nodded. "I know," she replied quietly. "I want to sleep, but every time I try, I keep wondering about what might have happened... what they would have done..."

Faith squeezed her shoulder again. "You need to get it out your system, huh?"

"Understating much?" Buffy offered with a wan smile. Turning to face the dark-haired Slayer, Buffy shot a glance towards her sister's bed. "Faith, could you watch Dawnie for me? I need to get some fresh air."

"You know you don't even gotta ask."

Buffy smile faintly. "Thanks, Faith."

"Not a problem, big sister."

Making her way towards the painting that covered the doorway, Buufy glanced towards Dawn's bed. Between a gap in the curtains, she could see her sister sprawled across the bed, hugging a pillow, her hair spreading around her.

"See you later, Faith."

The dark-haired Slayer swung up to sit on the windowsill and saluted the blonde, as Buffy withdrew from the room.

***

Even though visiting hours were up, a little money slipped into the right hands did wonders. Clad in a dusky cloak, the sky dark outside the tall windows that lined the ward, Narcissa Malfoy moved towards her son's bed like a moon-washed wraith.

Draco was at the far end of the ward and a small lantern hung on the wall above him, casting an oddly warm buttery glow on his pale, drawn features, his hair in a tangle about his face.

As always, he was strapped down upon the bed by magical and physical restraints to prevent him from harming himself, his head twitching and jerking, dreams tormenting him with some horror that she didn't even want to contemplate.

Sitting down carefully upon the edge of the bed, Narcissa felt tears welling up in her eyes as she brushed his hair back from his face, his whimpers growing louder at the touch upon his cheeks.

"Oh, Draco..." she whispered, her voice breaking as tears slid down her cheeks. 

Grey eyes snapped open, staring up at her and for the briefest moment, she thought she saw a flicker of recognition. 

"Draco? It's mummy...Draco?"

"Gone away... gone... have to... soon... have to look..." Draco's voice was a barely comprehensible mumble and he started straining against the straps and spells that bound him. "Soon... soon... find it... must look... all lost..."

Pressing a hand to her mouth, Narcissa couldn't hold in a sob, her shoulders shaking as she tried to contain them, her eyes burning and overflowing with the abundance of tears she could not shed in the privacy of her own home.

"Oh, Draco," she whispered. "My little boy..."

"Are you all right?"

Narcissa didn't turn at the male voice, but stiffened her slim shoulders, swiping the hot tears from her pale cheeks with a shaking hand. "You shouldn't be here, Rupert," she said, her voice crisp, controlled.

"You're not the only one who can bribe the staff, Narcissa."

"Rupert, if they see you talking to me... there's a reason I don't want to be seen with you... with any of your people."

The man moved to stand behind her. "I know," he said quietly. "But you've already put yourself in great danger, Narcissa. Lucius was never stupid and I doubt Glory is as naive as she appears to be. You know they will find out and when they do, we won't be able to help you."

"What does it matter?" She turned to look up at him, her expression cool, although her grey-blue eyes shone with tears. "What do I have to lose? That bitch has already taken my husband and son from me. What do I have left?"

"You shouldn't have ended up with him, Narcissa. He was wrong for you."

The sound of her hand connecting with Rupert Giles' face was deafening in the silent ward, her eyes flashing. "How dare you say such a thing, Rupert!" she snarled. "You are talking of the man whom I love and who once loved me! Our marriage was never ever a mistake! He and I are two parts of one whole and nothing you can say of him will convince me otherwise!"

Taking a step back, Giles rubbed his cheek. "You know what he is like, Narcissa."

"I know," she said coolly, standing tall and proud before him. "I know because I am like that as well! Don't look so shocked, Rupert. I might have been a Ravenclaw, but my ambition and cunning matched... no, surpassed Lucius. You have no idea of what you speak, when you say we were not matched!"

Giles stared at her, part dismayed, part angered. "You were Ginger's friend! You knew he was going to..."

"I knew everything he did or intended, Rupert," Narcissa said coldly, although there was an odd tremor in her tightly-controlled voice. "Now, leave. I don't want to see you again. Not now. Not ever."

"I thought you were decent, Narcissa. How wrong I was." With a look of utter contempt and loathing, Rupert Giles turned on his heel and stalked away down the ward, the door closing behind him with a soft click, leaving the blond-haired witch.

Sinking back down on the edge of Draco's bed, Narcissa pressed ice-cold hands to her burning face, shaking. "No, Rupert," she whispered more to herself than to her son, who was whimpering beside her. "You were right, but you will never know."

He couldn't be allowed closer. 

It would ruin anything. 

Better to have him hate her for the rest of his days than to be concerned about her and what she was doing for him and his people, what she should have done to save Ginger, her love for her husband at the time overshadowing everything.

Turning her gaze back to her son, she touched Draco's cheek. "Mummy has to go away now, Dragon," she said softly, leaning forwards to press a kiss to her twitching son's forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow."

***

He couldn't say what had woken him, only that it was deeply irritating.

Pushing his blankets back from the bed, Professor Severus Snape came to his feet and illuminated the lamps in his chamber with a mutter, casting a pale wash over the whole room. 

A shiver ran down his back, the stone room as cold as it usually was.

What had woken him?

Running a hand through his hair, he couldn't quell a heavy yawn, wishing he was still deeply asleep.

He was - unfortunately - cursed with his mother's intuition, although he often only received a slightly uncomfortable feeling, like the one which had driven him from his warm bed, while she would know exactly what was wrong, where and how. 

In this case, he knew something wasn't quite...right.

He wasn't certain what, but as his intuition usually lead him to wandering the castle until he either found the cause or fell asleep in the halls, he would have to start looking right away.

His heavy boots that he used for collecting his raw potions materials from the forest were the closest things, so he walked straight into them, pulling his heavy outer robes off the coat stand beside the desk.

The sooner he found what was annoying him, the sooner he could get back to his warm, comfortable bed and sleep.

Walking out of his chamber, he was hit by the blast of cold air whistling through the dungeons, making him draw a sharp breath. Raising the illuminated tip of his wand, he started down the hall, pulling his robes tighter around his pyjama-clad body.

Everything seemed well.

Even Filch seemed to be quieter than usual.

Snape's lips pressed together in a thin line. If he was having a bad feeling simply because some pupil in one of the dormitories was having a bad dream or something similar, he knew he was going to be very put out when morning came.

Stalking up the narrow flight of stone stairs that lead into the Entrance hall, he shivered as another gust of winter air caught up and slapped the fabric of his heavy robes around his ankles.

The hall was bathed in a pale wash of moonlight through several high windows, dappling the black and white floor with the silhouettes of the clouds and patterns on the stained glass windows.

However, one long slice of light caught his attention.

The front doors of the hall were open, allowing the shaft of thin moonlight to cut into the room Entrance Hall, as well as the ice-cold draught that was rapidly whistling it's way through the castle.

Sighing, Snape stalked towards the open doorway, his breath visible in puffs of mist, making a mental note to raise the subject of making sure the school was secure at the next staff meeting.

However, that thought was brushed from his head when he realised that the doors were open for a reason.

Someone was outside.

His head rocked back on his shoulders. 

Damn it.

Easing the huge door a little further open, the hinges squealing softly as he did so, he stepped out onto the top-most step of the long stone staircase that overlooked the ground of the castle.

"Summers?"

The Slayer turned to face him, the expression she bore one he had never seen on her young features before. "Snapey," she looked like she was trying to smile, but failed, turning back to look out at the grounds. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"What on earth are you doing out here, Summers?" he demanded, sitting down on the step near her. "It's the middle of the night...and the middle of winter, for pity's sake."

Sitting a step further down from him, her feet braced two steps further still, she had her folded hands clamped between her knees. "I don't know," she replied quietly, nothing like the exuberant creature she usually was. "I...I needed to think, I guess."

"Of what?"

Her slim shoulders rose in a shrug, her exhausted hazel eyes fixed on the grass in front of them. He studied her profile, uncertain what to say, one hand rising to comfortingly touch her shoulder.

"Summers! Are you trying to catch bloody pneumonia?" He had his thick robes off and around her body in a heartbeat, her skin ice cold through her pyjamas. "How long have you been out here? Why didn't you bring your robes?"

"I-I forgot," she muttered, looking down at his hands as he quickly pulled the thick fabric close around her. "I just needed some time to think and I kinda lost track of the time...where I was... Faith's watching Dawnie, so I figured... I... I needed a break..."

She bowed her head, her eyes on the front of the robes that he was fastening around her, long strands of her blonde hair brushing his hands, but it was the hot tears splashing on his skin that made him start.

"Summers?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered, sniffing hard, one small, blue-tinted hand coming up to scrub tears from her cheeks. "I-I shouldn't be getting so crazy about this... we're safe now..."

Now, it started to make sense.

"You are worried about your sister?" She nodded silently. "Summers, you are doing all you can. As are all the teachers in this school. Your sister is in the safest place she could possibly be."

Hazel eyes, red-rimmed, looked up at him. "You _do_ remember what happened to her, in this school, less than a week ago? You _do_ remember a comatose me and my sister being snatched by that sleazy guy with white hair?"

"We were unprepared, Summers," he said softly, a hand rising to tilt her face up to his. "Now, we are more than ready. They won't catch us by surprise again and if they do, they will have to get through me before they will come close to your sister."

"You want to protect my brat of a sister?" she laughed harshly.

"As I would protect anyone in this school with my life, Summers."

She studied him. "Including me."

He knew that she expected no reply, his right hand coming up and covering her left cheek, the warmth from his callused palm and fingertips radiating against her skin, her tears stinging with the winter chill.

"You should come back inside, Summers," he said quietly, moments later. "You'll catch your death of cold out here."

"Yeah..." Starting to rise, she winced as feeling returned to her legs. "Ow...now, I know why I like living in California..."

"And its all your own fault for leaving your robes indoors, Summers," he chastised, almost smiling when she actually growled up at him, as she tried to straighten her cold-stiffened legs. "Do you need some assistance?"

"Do I _look_ like I need some assistance?"

Before she could protest, his left arm slid under her legs, his right around her back and she was lifted off the steps.

"Snapey!"

"Do shut up, Summers," he remarked dryly, as he swept back into the Entrance Hall, pushing the door shut behind him with a foot. "You have already woken me. How would you feel if the rest of the school had to suffer sleeplessness as I have?"

"Put me down!"

"I think not, Summers. I am going to guarantee you a solid night's sleep, if I have to pin you down and sing you lullabies myself," His steady pace actually faltered as he said that. Buffy's muted giggle didn't help. "That was a thought that ought to have remained in my head. I really meant that I would get you to sleep, even if I had to knock you unconscious with that blasted troll hammer of Faith's."

"Sure, Snapey," she muttered, wincing. No doubt her blood was starting to warm up her chilly body again, reminding her that her blue limbs, hands and feet were actually still connected to her.

They were halfway down the narrow staircase that lead to the Hall which his room occupied, when she realised where they were going.

"Uh...Snapey, why are you taking me to your room?"

"One, it's the closest room," he replied, descending the rest of the black stairs. "Two, all my supplies are in my chamber and three, most importantly, I have no idea where your new chamber is."

"That makes sense."

"Everything I do makes sense, Summers."

She snickered. "Right, Snapey, like smooching me in your potions closet..."

"Ah, yes, one of my rare but tragic errors," he replied dryly, as her head came to rest against his shoulder. "Almost on par with you, the Slayer, having a romantic liaison with a vampire." 

"Hey!" she protested.

"Don't you find irony a wonderful word, Summers?" They came to a halt at the painting which lead into his room, waiting for the hooded figure to slouch back onto the windy moor, holding his robes tightly around him. "_Carpe noctem_."

"Seize the night?"

His brow arched. "You understand Latin?"

"Only that carping is nothing to do with fish," she smiled slightly.

Smothering the urge to chuckle, he shook his head. "You really are quite impossible, Summers," he sighed. The gloomy painting swung outwards, revealing the arched door that lead into the dark, dimly-lit room, Snape ducking through it with the blonde Slayer still held against his chest.

"Cosy," the blonde said tonelessly.

"It is sufficient," he answered coolly, carrying her to the seat in front of the fireplace and seating her in it, his wand appearing in his hand and sending a ball of flame straight into the dull grate. "Don't move."

He moved around the room with silent familiarity, gathering some small bottles to him, leaving the Slayer to study the room, as he expected she would. While she had seen it once before, he had never allowed her the time to pay it great mind. She was a young woman. She would no doubt wonder why he didn't have some kinds of decorations and home comforts.

Returning to the chair, a goblet in one hand a series of bottles in the other, he poured the contents of one of the bottles into the goblet and held it down to her. "It will warm you, Summers," he said quietly. 

She nodded and drank without protest, a shudder passing through her. "Snapey," she said carefully.

"Yes?" He retrieved the goblet from her hands, which were returning to their normal colour, adding another potion for dreamless sleep combined with a little sleeping draught, which swirled together into a pearly-blue fluid.

"This room is yours, right? I mean, no one else would have a room like this," she raised her eyes to him. "It's kind of how I imagined your room would look, but why do you live like this? So cold...bare...empty."

"This is all that I require, Summers," he answered after a few moments. "I am... comfortable in this setting."

She looked around the room again, then back at him, a strange expression in her hazel eyes. "Even Angel had more than this in his home, Snape," she said quietly. "It wasn't much, but it showed what he was like. Art. Books. Weapons. You...you don't have anything except your potions and work."

"Perhaps," His voice was strangely taut, one of his hands flexing convulsively by his side. The other was clenched around the goblet. "That is because potions and work are all that I am, Summers."

She gave him a pensive, searching look that reminded him - uncomfortably - of a knowing look he had seen often in Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes. "No," she said firmly. "No, you're not."

"And you, of course, would know what causes me to be the way I am?"

There was an odd expression on her face. "I don't think you even know that, Snapey," she said. "I think you're this way, because you don't want to know what you're really like. You live like this, because this is the way you were told to be. This was expected and you're still kinda scared about what you really might be if you try to be yourself."

He tried to snort derisively, he truly did. Unfortunately, there was no enthusiasm behind it. "You have reached this conclusion how?"

"By the way you treated me," she replied with candour.

"I see."

"Snapey, if you were as cold and empty as this room, if you were really this emotionally bare, then you would have left me sitting outside tonight. You wouldn't have given a damn if I froze my ass off. You wouldn't give a damn about Dawn or anyone else."

She...

Sweet Merlin, she was right.

Damnit.

"Drink this," he said sharply, thrusting the goblet into her hands.

Obediently, she downed the contents in one mouthful, shuddering slightly. Handing him the cup, she blinked at the fire in the grate, as if she couldn't quite get it into focus. A puzzled look crossed her face and she squinted up at him. "Snapey, what was in that?"

"Something to help you sleep," he replied. "And before it takes full effect, perhaps you would be kind enough to give me directions to your room, so I can have you delivered there?"

"My...my room? Right..."Rubbing her forehead with the heel of her hand, her puzzled look grew even more pronounced. "Um...I..." She managed to get to her feet, pointing vaguely towards the door. "I-I think I know the..." Her legs slid out from under her and Severus managed to catch her before she hit the floor. "Oops..." she murmured drowsily, peering up at him. "I-I think I'm tired..."

And, it appeared, she had not eaten for some time, hence the rapid effect of the potion on her.

"You are rather adept at the understatement, are you not, Summers?" he sighed, sliding his arms under her body and lifting her bodily against his chest. Her arms wrapped around his neck and he felt her clinging to him, as if she expected to be dropped. "So, your room..."

"Yeah...it's...it's out there...somewhere..." Her head sank against his shoulder.

"Damnit..." he muttered, giving her a shake. "Summers, you had best wake up now."

A muffled mumble escaped her and she rubbed her cheek against his chest, as if settling against a pillow.

Oh, this was just bloody fabulous.

Well...this left two options. 

She could utilise his bed, once again, or he could tip her into the chair in front of the fire and leave her there, while he returned to his comfortable, warm bed.

Not that it was really any decision at all.

Approaching the bed that stood along the broad back wall of the room, he was grateful that the houseelves hadn't made it up as soon as he had left the room. It was till mussed and probably still had a little lingering warmth.

With one arm around Summers' back, the other under her legs, he bent and carefully placed her on the mattress, withdrawing his left arm from under her legs to pull the blankets up and over her.

Unfortunately, that was when he encountered a slight snag in his original plan.

Summers' arms were still around his neck.

Tightly.

Sliding his other arm free, he reached behind his neck to try and loosen her grip, but quickly realised that it would have been easier to attempt to throw Hogwarts across the lake. 

The pressure of his hands on hers just made her cling to him tighter, whimpering in her throat as she burrowed her face against his chest.

This was ridiculous.

Shifting in her sleep, Summers rolled over. Severus managed to silence a startled yell as he was literally flipped over her and smacked down on the mattress, a small, sleepy Slayer pressing snugly against his left side.

Attempting to try and pull free again, he received a drowsy half-growl, half-whimper of protest and decided that perhaps, it would be wiser to stay still. Having his neck broken by a drugged-into-semi-unconsciousness Vampire Slayer did not seem like a feasible plan, so remaining where he was it had to be.

Reaching down as best he could, he pulled the blankets up and stared at the ceiling until the flames in the fireplace guttered out.

Even then, he continued to stare up at the ceiling. 

All plans for a good night's sleep had been utterly ruined by the lithe little figure who was curled cosily against his side and who, just when he thought he could tolerate her position, flung a leg over his and snuggled even closer, her breath hot against his collarbone, through the fabric of his pyjamas.

"I swear someone is using me for a huge celestial joke," he muttered to himself, closing his eyes and mentally praying that he survived the night with some semblance of tattered dignity.

______________________________________

Author's Notes: WHOOHOO! A nice, short chapter for once :D Shortest one in the last 23 chapters! Happy day! I need a break from all the long ones I'm working on and this will be enough :) Plus, the next one should be fairly large, so have no fear! Don't know when it'll be done, though - am off home for a few days, then London-bound.

Anyway, coming at some point, in the next chapter of The Eighth Weasley: A girls' night in leads to an abundance of girly chat for our heroines, Duncan surprises Dawn, Spike and Dumbledore have a heart to heart and much more!


	57. It's A Little Bit Funny

The Eighth Weasley

Chapter Fifty-Seven - It's A Little Bit Funny

Notes: First, I have to apologise for not updating this sooner. It's not that I didn't want to, but – alas – real life got in the way. I finished uni (Go me!) and had a load of friends visiting which seriously cut into my time, so no fic was created then. And, once they were all gone, I had to move house (again), which was – of course – huge amounts of fun. Really. 

This also meant getting all my stuff back to le lovely family home, where my own computer is still curently lying in bits and has been for several weeks *pets it* And now, I'm in sunny Swedland for the summer, which is also keeping me busy, since I be working for my keep (full time) :) 

And I, moron that I am, forgot to print out the plans for the next 19 chapters before taking my baby apart, hence a little difficulty in getting anything written. Still, here it is now, in all its glory :D Can't guarantee it'll be any good, but that's what I say about all my fics, so enjoy!

__________________________________

The first thing that crept into Buffy's awareness as she started to wake was the fact that she was definitely warm and comfortable, although the bed she was lying on felt a little harder than her own.

And there was something large and warm under her cheek, rising and falling with a steady rhythm. That same large, warm something was a something which her whole body seemed to be comfortably pressed against.

Wiggy.

Unwillingly dragging herself from sleep, the Slayer yawned and forced her eyes to open, to face the day… which appeared a lot darker than she remembered day being, greeted with a faceful of fabric, beyond which she could see dark wall that bore no resemblance to anything in her rooms, illuminated only by the dim glow of a fire flickering in a grate.

Uberwiggy.

Shifting slightly, trying to get her bearings, she sniffed the air. A tang of chemicals and spices flooded her nostrils, almost making her sneeze, her eyes widening in sudden understanding and recollection of what had happened the night before.

Snapey!

He had found her sitting outside, lectured her about getting cold, had taken her to his rooms, gave her some weird potion and then… then, she remembered things getting kinda fuzzy around the edges and feeling way too sleepy.

One small hand tentatively palpated the fabric-covered mass that her head was resting on and she found the unmistakeable throb of a heartbeat, steady and even. As even as the breathing. 

Oh… kay…

She was in a bed with Snapey.

Not moving further, in case she woke him up and he was even crankier than usual, Buffy assessed her position, wondering if he'd done the putting-to-bed or if she had somehow managed to get herself there.

Right…

He was on his back and his arms seemed to be by his sides. He was perfectly still and seemed to be dead to the world. Or, at least, he hadn't given any sign that he was anything but asleep, but – Buffy grinned slightly – knowing Snapey, he could well be bluffing to make her go away.

Or stay.

With Snapey, it could be either depending on his mood.

Okay. His arms weren't anywhere near her, which kinda suggested she had been the one who did the putting-to-bed. Something which only became embarrassingly clearer when she realised her arms were securely wrapped around him. 

Both of them.

Tightly.

She could feel heat rising in her cheeks, loosening her grip, suddenly painfully aware of why he hadn't touched her or climbed from the bed: for fear of getting both his arms and possibly his neck broken by Slayer strength, he had played the proverbial ragdoll and just let her do what she liked.

Oh God…

Poor Snapey.

"Thank you." His voice nearly made her leap out of her skin.

Jerking up into a half-sitting, half-kneeling position with a squeal of fright, her left leg – folded beneath her body – pressing against his left hip and side, blankets pooled about her, Buffy smacked him on the chest. 

"Snapey! Don't do that!" she exclaimed indignantly, more than aware of the smirk that curled up one side of his lips. Still, she didn't pull away, scramble from the warm bed or even consider either of those two options. "You jerk! You scared me!"

"And you dragged me into bed with you last night, giving me no choice of my own, so that suggests that we are even," the dry reply fell from those smirking lips, his half-closed eyes glittering at her. 

Buffy uttered a squeak of embarrassment, clapping a hand over her mouth, her other hand still resting on his chest where she had struck him. "Oh God…"

"I do prefer Severus, you know, but I suppose God is an improvement on Snapey."

She slapped his chest again, a broad grin breaking behind her hand. "Stop that!"

"What?"

"Making with the funnies," she retorted, trying desperately to glare at him, failing miserably. "They're so not you. You're meant to be the mean, loomy, sneery guy. You do know it freaks people when you make with the funnies, right? They think you got hit on the head or something."

A dark brow arched. "And I suppose they are your forte?"

"My forty what?"

Much to her surprise, he chuckled: a soft, genuinely amused sound, nothing like his usual sarcastic chuckle that always sounded kinda evil. 

"I will be a gentleman and blame the after effects of that potion for your lack of intelligence for once," he said, leaning up slightly on his arm. His right hand crossed his body, running lightly through her hair, Buffy's eyes going round as saucers. 

"Wh-what are you doing?"

"I am liberating a feather from your hair, Summers," he replied, smirking and withdrawing his hand, a feather between his fingertips. "It looked rather ridiculous. Even more so than those garish items you so erroneously term as clothing."

Buffy looked indignant. "Hey! I like my clothes!"

"Summers, I truly despair in you."

"Says Mister I-live-in-the-batcape."

The glitter returned to his eyes as his right hand slid behind his head on the pillow and he gazed at her. "In my defence," he observed. "I do not make it a habit to wear my underpants on top of my clothing."

Buffy blinked at the mental image that provided. "Uh…"

"Ah, I see." There was a smug note in his voice. "You did not believe me capable of being remotely aware of popular muggle culture."

"Uh, not really, no," she readily admitted, still trying to force aside the image of Snape in a Batman costume. Terrifying didn't even come close to that. "You really like creeping me out with the weird visual places, don't you?"

Snape simply smirked more.

"Jerk."

"Yes, we had established that I am one of those, although I do not see how it is possible for me to be a mode of pulling, but I digress," He yawned. "Do you intend to babble at me for what is left of the night or will you allow me to get some sleep?"

"Aww, is the poor Snapey tired?"

A brow lifted. "Summers, do bear in mind that you have been throttling me for the last six hours at least. That rarely provides someone with an opportunity for restful sleep, so if you do not mind…"

"You want for me to leave?" she offered, blushing a little.

Snape's shoulders lifted marginally. "That is entirely up to you," he replied, closing his eyes. "You know where the door is, where your own chambers are and I am certain that even you would not be afraid to encounter the Bloody Baron at five o'clock in the morning."

"Uh…"

One eye opened a crack and a genuine smile played about one side of his lips. "If you feel it is necessary to stay, however, as long as you do not try to strangle me again, I am sure there is sufficient room in this bed for two."

Buffy stared at him for a long moment. "Are you feeling all right, Snapey? You want me to stay?"

"It is entirely your decision, Summers. After all, we have been here for hours already and nothing untoward has happened and you have slept in this bed once before, so I do not see why you would make such a fuss about it." he replied aloofly, closing his eyes again. "As for me, I intend to get some sleep, so if you would not mind."

That said, his breathing seemed to even out and he almost seemed to fall asleep instantly, leaving the Slayer sitting, staring at him in confusion.

"I slept in this bed before? Huh?" Part of her wanted to shake the man awake and demand what he had meant, but the other part was yawning and grumbling that the room wasn't getting any warmer and the blankets pooled about her sure looked cosy.

Chewing on her lip, smothering a yawn, she tugged the blankets back up and lay down beside him, shivering at the chill of the room, making certain that she didn't breach his personal space.

At least, not until she felt a lean arm, garbed in fabric thicker than her own pyjamas, slide about shoulders, drawing her to rest against a narrow chest, the fabric and flesh warm to her touch. 

"You have been curled against me all night, Summers," the voice was soft, like a ripple of silk against her skin, causing an uncalled for shiver to run the length of her spine. "Why change that now?"

"Snapey, I thought you…"

"Sh," A gentle hand framed her face in the dark and she felt him shift, lips brushing briefly over hers to silence her. "I am asleep." The hand spread lightly on her back, warm through the blankets. "And so should you be."

"But…"

"Sleeping, Summers, and not hearing a word you're saying."

Buffy's lips twitched up as she let her head rest on his thin shoulder. "Cranky jerk."

"I did not hear that."

"I know, I know. Sleeping."

She could hear the smirk in Snape's voice. "Precisely." 

***

Clad in her husband's expensive concealment cloak, the even more exclusive version of an invisibility cloak, Narcissa edged forwards as silently as she could. Having made her way through the dark halls of the Manor, unnoticed, she was not about to make an error in overconfidence to lead to her discovery.

As usual, her beloved husband and his darling harlot had been busying themselves with the arrangement for the complex dark magic spells that were required to breach the intensely powerful charms protecting Hogwarts.

Most often, they worked deep into the evening, then would argue and rage at one another for hours, before ending up in Lucius' bed chamber, where the cries would only grow ever more potent.

She had heard them storming down the halls, past her own room, where she was faking sleep, only half an hour earlier, which meant they were no doubt still partaking of their choice of… entertainment in her husband's bed.

While it still caused a pang of hurt to strike beneath her breast, it also gave her the chance she needed to find what she was looking for in their absence from the massive drawing room.

In the past few days, she had been confined to the library and only now, when they were gone, could she access the files they had been working on, knowing that they trusted her sufficiently to leave the papers unguarded.

Cloud-licked moonlight cracked through the heavy, dark drapes which hung around the windows, tracing an intricate, inimitable pattern upon the wooden panels of the floor and the carpets.

Her feet bare, Narcissa crept forward, silent upon the wood, as she approached the desk, the only sounds the faint whisper of the concealment cloak as it touched upon the surface of the floor beneath.

Her heart was racing as she neared the desk, the heap of tidily organised papers speaking measures of Lucius' fastidious nature, each one carefully marked and placed in a specific order.

This, she knew, was one of the occasions when Lucius' obsessively organised nature would prove useful, his need to have documents close at hand, near his work space one of his weaknesses.

Easing around the desk, she glanced around the dim room, the only light that of the moon's gentle gleam, which was more than sufficient for her purposes. No one was visible and she exhaled, her hands reaching out for the papers, searching rapidly through them for any suggestions of further plans.

In the shadows of the room, though, hidden from Narcissa's sight amid the heavy drapes and dark hangings, a pair of bright eyes glittered – unseen – beneath the hood of a shabby robe. 

And, equally unseen, scabbed lips twisted into a malicious smile.

***

Smoothing her pyjamas down self-consciously, Buffy eased out of Snape's bed, a flush rising up her face as she realised exactly what she had just done: she had just spent the night with old Cranky himself.

And she'd liked it.

That was the weird part.

Everyone around her still seemed to assume that she and the dark-haired wizard still despised each other, which really couldn't be further from the truth, although how she was going to explain her absence to her sister, she didn't know.

Glancing at the clock, she couldn't help raising her brows at it. 

While most clocks would have three, the single hand formed the word 'content' in elaborate, though slightly tarnished gold lettering which shone faintly against the dark face of the clock, upon which words were visible.

Moving a little closer, she squinted at the lettering behind the hand. It announced in untidy, curly writing that it was 'well past time to get up, you lazy so and so', drawing a faint chuckle from the Slayer.

"You find something amusing, Summers?"

Glancing back at the bed, where she had assumed that Snapey was still asleep, the faint light from the low-burning fire highlighting his features, Buffy's arms crossed over her chest a little shyly. "It's a weird clock," she offered.

"In what way?"

"Why does it only have one hand?"

Snapey leaned up on one arm, glancing past her at the clock. A faint line appeared between his brows as he glanced at the hand, but it faded at once at her curious look and he sat up fully, shrugging. "No others are necessary. The clock tells me all that I need to know."

"And now it's telling you that you should be up?"

Nodding curtly, he pushed himself out of the bed. "So it would seem," he replied in a casual tone. "Although I do believe we have a minor problem."

"Oh?" Turning to face him fully, Buffy felt her heart sink.

Snapey approached her, his attention focused upon the face of the clock. "Well, it appears that we are both somewhat late to breakfast," he replied, "and it would not be seemly for the Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts to be seen, running about the school in her nightwear."

Buffy's blush returned full force. "Oh crap…" she mumbled. "Do you have any way I could get back to my room with no one seeing?"

A dark brow arched. "Summers, as you seem to have appropriately forgotten, I'm a wizard. If you require them, I can provide you with your own clothing. That is," An almost mischievous twinkle glimmered in his eyes. "Unless you would prefer to wander into the Great Hall as you presently are."

"Smart ass," She pulled a face at him.

"I do try," Snapey smirked at her. "I trust that means you will require your clothing of choice?"

"Duh!"

The dark brow lifted once more. "In English, Summers?"

"That _was_ English, doofus," Buffy gave him a mock-glare, which he responded to with a derisive curl of his lip. "Fine! Oh Snapey, you wonderfully magical wizard, can you get me my clothes?"

"And the magic word is?"

"How am I meant to know? You're the wizard."

Snapey shook his head mournfully. "Alas, Summers, in a world where manners have been forgotten, I thought that even an American such as yourself would know the significance of the word 'please'."

Once more, Buffy's face turned scarlet. "Oh," she said sheepishly.

One of Snapey's hands rose, pausing less than a centimetre from her skin, so close she could feel the faint warmth of his palm, her heart leaping, wondering if the heat rushing through her was because he was almost touching or because he wasn't.

"Once more," he said softly, his dark eyes holding hers. How she had ever thought his eyes were cold and sinister, she didn't know. Dark, yes, but there was a glimmer in them, intelligence and a sharpness she had only ever seen in Giles or Spike on a good day. "I will ignore this lapse in manners and trust that you are still in the process of waking up."

His thumb brushed along her cheekbone, down, breathtakingly close to her lip, then his hand dropped away.

"Uh…"

"How eloquent you are," he chuckled, stepping away from her. "If you wish to refresh yourself, there is a bathing chamber through the door beside the desk."

"Door?" Buffy squinted at the solid wall, grateful for a reason to look away from the man before her. A hand at the base of her back gently steered her towards the wall and a door seemed to merge out of the dark. "Oh! Right!"

Trying desperately to ignore Snapey's amused silky chuckle, her face flaming, Buffy grabbed the handle and fled through into the bathroom, which – unlike Snapey's bedroom – was almost sterile in its whiteness.

Before her, a deep, white metal bath with large, clawed feet was tapping its toes, as if bored. A sink stood to her left, toilet to the right, plain white towels hanging on an equally plain rail on the wall beside the sink.

Hurrying to the sink, she turned on the tap, dashing cold water on her hot face, raising her eyes to the mirror above it.

"Good God! A woman!" the mirror yelled in a deep baritone that sounded hoarse, as if it had not been used for a long time.

Leaping back a pace in surprise, Buffy blinked. "Uh… yeah?"

"You! A woman!" the mirror's voice rose in panicked intensity, until it was little more than a howl of dismay. "Here! In Severus' bathroom! SEVERUS! SEVERUS WE'VE BEEN INVADED!"

"Do shut up, you wretched thing!" Snapey's voice called through the door, sounding both amused and a little irritated. "She's a guest."

"A… guest?" There was a long silence, as if the mirror was trying to process this rather shocking piece of information. "Well… er… would you like me to be honest or do you prefer me to lie about how dreadful you look?"

Buffy could feel the heat rising in her face once more. "Um… can you maybe… y'know… not look?"

"Don't worry!" the mirror said eagerly. "You've got nothing I haven't seen bef… oh, wait!" There was an oddly embarrassed note in the voice. "I haven't seen anything like that before! Pardon me. I'll be quiet now."

Hastily washing and drying herself, Buffy pulled on her vest again. She could hear Snapey moving about on the other side of the door and looked around quickly for a brush of some kind. She was amused to notice that her threats about his hair hadn't been in vain, shampoo standing in top of a low cupboard beside the mirror.

Reaching for the cupboard door, to see if there was any kind of a brush, she paused when the door rattled. "O… kay…" Grasping the metal knob, she pulled the door open, stumbling back in surprise when a figure seemed to spill out, straightening up.

Someone very familiar.

"Glory!"

"You got me, toots," The Hell Goddess shook golden curls back from her face. "And kinda looks like I got you again, all on your lonesome as usual, huh? Bet your friends don't even care that you're missing."

"Like you would know anything about them," Buffy snarled, her heart racing, wondering how Glory had managed to bust into the castle. "Get out of here, before I kick your ass out!"

"You and what army?" Glory smirked, folding her arms and arching an eyebrow. "In case you forgot, chickpea, last time I fought you, I kicked your bony little hinny without even breaking a sweat. You think you can take me on your own?"

"If I need them, my friends will help me," the Slayer hissed. 

"You wanna get 'em hurt, baby?" the woman said derisively. "You know if they come here I'm just gonna make 'em suffer, just to watch you wriggle and squirm like an itty bitty worm on a hook."

"They don't know you're here," Buffy felt unease rising in her, looking around wildly for a weapon of some kind, any kind. Glory would NOT hurt her friends! Glory would not do anything to them!

"You bet they do. Old Dumble guy could feel me showing up. Bet they're gonna come crashin' in here any second and try and save you. Gonna enjoy watching me pop their heads like grapes, babe?"

"You won't lay a finger on them!" Buffy shouted, lunging forward and swinging a fist towards Glory's face. It was caught in a vicelike grip, twisted harmlessly aside, the Hell Goddess smirking.

"Wanna bet?" Glory sneered, one hand around Buffy's fist, contracting agonisingly and sending the Slayer to her knees. "You think they're ever gonna be enough to keep helpin' you? That's what it comes down to, sweets. You're nothing without them, but it's always you to blame for everything that happens around them. All the crap they go through comes from you. You're the Slayer, you're the chosen one. You're alone, babe. That's the way it's always been. That's the way it's gonna be, when they're all dead, because of you."

"They won't!"

"Wanna bet, blondie? Haven't you noticed something? Everyone close to you gets hurt, because of you. Because of who you are," the Hell Goddess was laughing as she spoke, Buffy shaking her head wildly. "You're the reason they get hurt. You're the reason they're gonna be dead when I go home. They're all gonna be hurt because of you. They're all gonna die because of you, because you just have to surround yourself with 'em. You'll never be able to keep anyone. Look at Angel. Look at Kendra. Look at your friends. You're the reason they've been hurt so many times! You think you can protect them? You're nothing, Slayer! You can't even fight me! Even that creepy Snape guy. I'm gonna suck 'em all dry and leave 'em to rot." 

"SHUT UP!" Buffy screamed, lashing out with her other fist in a savage blow that made Glory stagger back a step, releasing her hold on Buffy's hand. The Slayer was on her feet in an instant. "You won't lay a finger on them, you bitch! I'll never let you touch them!"

Vaguely, amid Glory's ringing laughter, Buffy registered the door of the bathroom swing open and jerked around to see Snapey standing there, expression thunderous, wand raised in his hand.

Immediately, Glory seemed to blink out of existence, Buffy falling back against the side of the bathtub, panting hard, staring in shock at the object, which had appeared on the bathroom floor.

Her.

Lying very still, expression peaceful, the girl on the floor was unmistakably her.

Shaking, she lifted her head to look at Snapey, whose expression was inscrutable as he raised his wand and in a voice more commanding than she had ever heard, yelled out, "_Riddikulus_!"

There was a crack, like that of a pistol being fired and the sleeping Buffy vanished in a puff of smoke, Snape whirling around to her.

"Summers," Kneeling before her in a heartbeat, where she had sunk to sit on the lip of the bathtub, he captured her face between his hands, forcing her to look at him and meet his gaze. "Summers, are you all right?"

Still shaking, Buffy lunged forward, her arms wrapping around his neck, her face burying in his shoulder, her breathing painfully ragged. "I-I thought it was her," she whispered, her voice quavering. "She-she was saying she was gonna hurt everyone… and it would be my fault… because of who I am…"

"Sh, Summers, there's nothing to fear," Although not as tight as her grip, his arms were about her body, one hand spread upon her back and gently stroking from shoulder to the base of her spine as he continued to murmur softly. "It was a boggart, Summers, nothing more."

"But it…"

"It shows your greatest fears, Summers, it plays on them," his voice was low, soft, reassuring in her ear, her fingers gripping into the back of the fabric of the robes he had donned. "It was nothing more than an image of your fears. Pay it no heed."

"But it was so right," she half-sobbed. "It said people I care for get hurt because of me… they do…"

"And people are also saved because of you, Summers," Snape continued to stroke her back gently with the tips of his fingers. "You are not the cause of the hurt. It is not your fault. It only proves that you are stronger than it." Sitting back a little, he turned her face to his with the tip of one finger. "Do not heed its words, Summers. Boggarts thrive on fear and to show you what you fear most causes this reaction. It was nothing more than an image. Do not heed it."

Nodding, Buffy raised a small, shaking hand to scrub at her eyes. "I-I was just kinda freaked out," she said, lowering her head.

"Which is nothing to be ashamed of," he said, a note of reassuring warmth in his voice. "Stronger people than you have been brought to their knees by the malign influence of boggarts."

Lifting her eyes to him, she hesitantly asked, "Why did it turn into me, asleep?"

A strange expression filtered across Snapey's features, one hand lifting to stroke the last tears from her cheek with the rough pad of his thumb. 

"You do recall that you almost throttled me in my sleep last night, do you not?" he said after a moment of contemplative silence, during which Buffy was sure she could hear him trying to word his reason. She nodded. "Then, my fear needs no further explanation, does it?"

Buffy laughed weakly. "Your greatest fear in the world is me sleeping?" she said, a wan smile playing upon her lips. "Want that I should tell Giles about it? I bet he'd find it funny."

"Summers…" The cautioning tone was back.

Raising her hand, Buffy squeezed Snape's. "I know," she said quietly, before drawing his fingertips from her face. "If I breathe a word, you'll make me drink your weird potions and turn me into something icky."

"How well you know me," Snape exhaled a long-suffering sigh, lifting her hand to touch his lips lightly to her knuckles.

"Yeah," Buffy said, lowering her eyes to look at their hands which sank to rest in her lap, as his fingers interwove between hers. "And the wiggy thing?" She raised her eyes to his once more. "I don't hate it."

Snape studied her and there was a distinct glint in his dark eyes. "Summers, are you sure you did not hit your head?" he inquired, his thumb brushing lightly across her knuckles. "You're beginning to sound quite assuredly insane."

"Crazy works," Buffy retorted, smiling slightly as she reluctantly withdrew her hand and stood up. "But now, Mister-I-keep-demon-thingies-in-my-bathroom-closet-and-fear-Buffy-when-she's-sleeping, we're late for breakfast. We better go."

"Anything that will stop this insane talk of finding me remotely likeable. I do believe that if the boggart were to reappear, that would be my new terror – Summers telling me she likes me." He shuddered visibly. "The horror is beyond words."

"Jerk."

"Thank you."

***

"Mornin', An!"

Pushing a piece of egg around her plate, Anya looked up at the dark-haired Slayer, a slight frown marring her brow. Cold February sunlight was filtering down on them, casting sharp light on the former demon's face as her frown deepened. "I am well aware it is morning, thank you, Faith," she replied, as the other girl dropped into the seat opposite her.

"Someone get out of the wrong side of bed this mornin'?"

The former demon shot a pointed look at Faith. "I don't know what you're implying," she said in a sniffy tone of voice. "My bed is very nice and comfortable and I don't think there is actually a wrong side to it. If there was Albus would fix it."

"He would, huh?" A wicked grin played across Faith's features, as she caught a hold of the cup of coffee, which has just appeared in front of her, taking a mouthful and sighing in relief as caffeine hit her bloodstream. "What got you in such a sunshine and light mood?"

"Are you actually speaking American that I can understand?"

"Why so cheerful?" Faith offered, smirking slightly around a bagel. "Man-issues?"

Anya's frown deepened. "I'm not sure I am permitted to discuss this in front of the students," she said, shooting a warning glare at an unfortunate Hufflepuff first year, who happened to be seated nearby. "But you have a lot of experience with men. Are they all so moody?"

"Depends on if they got laid in a big way," Faith yelped in indignation when she was tapped firmly on the head and she looked up to find Gunn standing over her. "What? I'm not allowed to give out free advice about guys to anyone who asks?"

"Not in front of the kids, Faith," Charles Gunn said evenly. "We don't want 'em knowing more than they really need to."

"More? No such thing!"

"Faith…"

Sighing, the Slayer raised her hand in acknowledgement. "Okay, okay, already," she sighed. "An, you and me – we gotta have a one-on-one somewhere we won't get interferin' jerks buttin' in and then I can tell you everything I know about the dumbassness that is Men."

Anya's expression brightened. "And perhaps then we can talk about sex and vaginas without the men getting embarrassed and turning red, even though it is very amusing to watch."

"What's this about turning red and watching?" Cordelia asked, approaching the table with Xander. "Are we going to be humiliated if we sit with you?"

"Nah, C, no more than usual," Faith said cheerfully, snatching a piece of toast. "Me and An are gonna find some time to talk guys. Wanna join in?"

"Girls' night?" Cordelia seemed to perk up instantly. "That would be kinda neat. I haven't had any other girls around to talk to in ages. Except Angel and Wesley and that really doesn't work, even though they do care more about their hair than I do."

"How about we get B, Red, Red's babe and D along for the ride?"

"You really mean to go all out on this?"

Anya nodded eagerly. "And we can have unhealthy food and complain about the unwillingness of men to listen or commit!" she exclaimed, rubbing her hands together gleefully. "I always used to enjoy that in the days when I was still a demon!" 

"Again with the not-so-loud, An," Xander said, sliding into a seat beside Cordelia and reaching for a doughnut. "Do you want everyone to know you used to be in the vengeance business?"

Anya shrugged, swatting Xander's hand away from her coffee pot. "I don't see why I should be embarrassed that I was in a stable line of business for over a millennia. It's more than can be said for anyone in this place."

"She's got a point, Xander," Cordelia said with a laugh. "And yes, Anya, we're gonna do the girls night. All of us. Except maybe Dawn."

"Why not D?" Faith demanded around a mouthful of toast and coffee.

Xander and Gunn both looked at her with exactly the same expression.

"Because we know what your kind of conversations are going to be like?" Xander suggested with a knowing look at Faith. The Slayer smirked at him over the rim of her cup. "And Dawn's just a little young."

"I'd say a lot young," Cordelia added with a fond look at her boyfriend. "If we're gonna do girl's night right, then we can't be stopping every time we want to say something about the guys we're with." 

"But it'll only be good, right?" Xander said hopefully. "Right?" Cordelia merely smiled, retrieving a slice of buttered toast and biting it. "Right? Cordy?"

"Way to go, Cor," Faith laughed merrily, ignoring the glower that Xander sent in her direction. "Get the boy all paranoid, so he'll try and bust into the girls' night. Gotta say I love the way you handle him."

Cordelia cast a prim look at the Slayer. "It's all a matter of knowing how they think," she replied, a devilish glint in her dark brown eyes. "If ever."

"HEY!" Xander and Gunn protested.

Smirking, Cordelia gestured to them. "See?"

"I believe we're seein' the Mistress at work," Faith commented to Anya, who was grinning at the two men. "Gotta love it when they squirm." Her eyes drifted over Xander, who blushed crimson and cleared his throat. "Perv."

"Xander!" Cordelia exclaimed.

"What?" Xander exclaimed in a wounded tone. "Everyone's picking on me!"

"Easy target, Xan," Faith chuckled, then covered her grinning mouth with her hand, an amused expression on her face as she glanced beyond them at the door on the far side of the Great Hall. "Holy…"

As one, everyone else seated at the table turned, staring in surprise at that which Faith had witnessed.

"Don't they… hate each other?" Xander said faintly.

Faith and Anya exchanged knowing glances. 

"Obviously," Anya replied, sipping her coffee.

***

"That was too weird."

"Um… yes… just a wee bitty…"

Dawn eyed Duncan. "So you noticed too?"

The Scottish boy blinked before turning to face his friend. "They came into the hall together, Dawnie," he said in a monotone. "They came into the hall. Together. As in not on their own. Together."

It was just after breakfast and the surreal had happened in the Great Hall.

Most of the students and staff had been seated for breakfast, chatting and discussing what was to come in the day. Dawn, though, had been expressing her concerns about her sister, who had disappeared the night before and had yet to return, to Duncan.

Faith had said she was sure that Buffy was fine, but that had done little to reassure the Slayer's little sister, who had wanted to check every room in the castle. The dark-haired Slayer had insisted that she get breakfast first and then see what happened.

_It_ happened.

About ten minutes after Dawn had arrived in the hall, the door behind the staff table had opened and two figures had entered, both looking strangely at ease, which never normally happened when they were in the near vicinity of one another.

Snape and Buffy.

He held the door open for her, allowing her to pass. She flashed him a smile and a 'Thank you, Snapey', before hurrying behind the staff table towards her seat between Minerva and Hermione, who were both staring at her with as much confusion as many of the pupils were.

Buffy. Snape. Civilised to each other.

Something about the situation seemed completely wrong.

Giles, on the other hand, looked like he was in serious pain from laughing so very hard, one hand smotheringly pressed over his mouth, his green eyes crinkled with amusement behind his glasses.

"You think he gave her a potion to drug her?"

"Ah think it's a wee bit more likely than him being nice to her," Duncan admitted, shivering a little. "Did ye see the way he held the door? Ah really thought he was gonnae smile…"

"Smile? Snapey?"

Duncan shuddered. "Don't make me remember it," he mumbled. "Ah dinnae want to be scarred for life by the memory."

"I bet that's why they did it!" Dawn exclaimed, making an excited gesture with one hand. "They wanted to freak us all out and Snapey being all nice to Buffy would work, wouldn't it?"

"Ah'll say!"

Dawn pulled a face. "I am SO glad we don't have potions today," she said, her nose wrinkling a little. "I don't think I'd be able to even look at him without getting all freaked out."

"Aye," Duncan acknowledged, as they started down the hall towards the Divination classroom, where Lorne and Cordelia were going to apparently be teaching them something about… something. 

Cordelia hadn't been able to be any more specific, when Dawn has asked, saying something in an agitated voice about Lorne saying he wanted to surprise them all and hoping it wouldn't trigger a vision, because she would "so very much cause him a world of pain" if it did.

"Oh!" Glancing up at him, Dawn inquired, "Wanna see if Buffy'll let us go down to Hogsmeade this weekend? She'll probably freak cos of the whole Glory mess, but I kind wanna get to see the cool little pub thingie!"

Duncan winced. "I dunno, Dawnie," he replied. "Unless she comes with us, I don't think we're even gonna be allowed to go anywhere without someone watchin' you."

"Which sucks," Dawn put in. "Geez, it's not like the guy can get back in easily now! They have all the cool spells and thingies around the school and even if I went to Hogsmeade, even Malfoy isn't that dumb and I…OH!"

Duncan stopped mid-pace, closing his eyes. "Why," he said, "dae Ah not like the sound of that?"

"Because you know me?" Dawn offered, grinning.

One blue eye cracked open and he raised his brow. "So…?"

"Well, I still do have some of that polyjuice potiony stuff left, don't I?"

"Dawnie…"

"And I could always borrow someone's hair…"

"But, Dawnie…"

"And come in their body instead."

"DAWNIE!"

Dawn looked at him expectantly. "Yeah?"

"Ye cannae go," he said, his voice low and serious. Dawn stared at him. She had never seen him look so severe about anything. "Even in someone else's body. Ah cannae let ye go."

Her expression tightening, Dawn's fists balled on her hips. "You're not the boss of me, Duncan Cameron," she said, her voice clipped.

"Ah know that, Dawnie," he said, turning to face her fully. "but Ah am yer friend and Ah don't want tae see ye getting hurt by them again. Ah dinnae think Ah'd be able to cope wi' that."

"Then we'd just have to make sure they didn't find me."

Duncan's face was etched with concern and pain. "Dawnie," he said, catching one of her hands. "Please, dinnae do anythin' that might put ye in the position where they might get ye. Please."

Surprised by his tone, Dawn nodded. "All right, Mister I-wanna-run-your-life-since-I-don't-have-one," she retorted, rolling her eyes. "I'll stay in the castle and be bored and you can go into Hogsmeade and have fun. K?"

"Actually, no," Duncan replied, still holding her hand. "Ah'm no' goin' without you." A smile crossed his lips. "Ye'd have to be really lucky tae get rid of me that easily. Ah'm stayin' here."

"But it's your break!" Dawn exclaimed, staring at him. "You've been waiting for this for so long!"

Duncan shrugged. "Aye," he agreed. "But it widnae be any fun without my friend there, would it?"

"But…"

Raising a hand to silence her protests, he grinned. "Ye know the more ye argue, the more determined Ah am ta stay here, with ye, right?" He pulled her hand, drawing her arm to loop through his. "An' come on. We better no' be late for Divination."

"But…"

"Ah heard somethin' about crystal balls…"

"But Duncan!"

"And if yer lucky, ye might find one that actually lights up…"

Groaning, Dawn gave up. "You're weird."

Duncan merely grinned. "Aye. And yer point is?"

***

"But you might need our help!"

Giles gave Hermione and Willow a pointed look, then glanced down at their joined hands. "Do you honestly believe that you will let us get anything done, while you whisper sweet nothings?" he challenged.

"But we weren't! We wouldn't whisper the nothings when we're here! We're here for the working!" Willow exclaimed, disentangling her hand from Hermione's. "See! All here and ready for the workin'!"

"As much as I dislike agreeing with Mr. Giles," Minerva McGonagall cut in, a gleam of amusement in her eyes. "I'm afraid that cuddling up and muttering to one another and allowing Miss Granger to instigate a dozen blushes in as many minutes does indeed indicate that you are whispering sweet nothings, Miss Weasley."

Hermione grinned. "Nice to see I haven't lost my touch," she remarked, one hand disappearing beneath the table. 

The other members of the group present around the long conference table could only make a wild guess where said hand had gone when Willow leapt up from her seat with a squeak of embarrassment.

"I assume that means you will be departing, then?" Giles quirked an eyebrow up.

Colour flooding up her face, Willow hastily grabbed up her own pile of texts and fled out of the door, Hermione rising and gathering her own sheaf of papers at a more leisurely pace.

"That was rather wicked of you, Hermione," Giles said.

"Yeah, sweets," Lorne shook his head, his eyes dancing with amusement. "And here I always thought you were the all nice, no naughties girl."

"What can I say? I do so love to surprise people who think I'm nothing but a bookworm," The bushy-haired witch shrugged with a mischievous smile. "I knew she would want to stay and help and since we do have those plans for tonight, it seemed the only way to actually get her to leave. You know that telling her she needed to rest wouldn't work. It would only make her more determined to stay."

"How very true," Wesley noted, raising his head from the book he was studying. "If I recall correctly, Willow was nearly always the last to leave the library at night, when we were dealing with problems upon the Hellmouth."

"And she really has been working far too hard recently," Minerva added with a very pointed look at the smirking Hermione. "Perhaps you could assure that she gets some rest, even I just for tonight, Miss Granger? And I do mean actual rest for once, not some other activity pertaining to a bed."

"Minerva, sweetheart," Lorne said with a note of urgency in his voice. "I kinda wouldn't be suggesting that. You don't want the world to spin right off into space because you got the lovely ladies to do the impossible, do you? I mean, come on, sleeping? Them?"

"Lorne!" Hermione exclaimed, although she was having trouble concealing a grin.

The demon raised his hands in self-defence. "Don't shoot the future-seeing messenger, Little Miss Wandering Hands! You just go take care of that girl of yours before she gets cranky."

"I'll see what I can do," the young witch laughed. "You're sure you don't want us to come back and help later?"

Giles made a dismissing gesture with one hand. "You have all been doing plenty," he said. "Take a chance to have one night off. I'm sure it won't make that much of a difference if you allow yourselves time to rest, do you?"

Shaking her head, Hermione finished stacking her carefully organised notebooks and papers neatly in her arms. "We'll see you all tomorrow, then," she said, on her way to the door. "Oh, and if you hear any explosions from the direction of Gryffindor Tower, don't worry. It's just us."

"That's what worries me," Giles observed, before the young witch disappeared out of the door of the classroom. Looking at Minerva, he remarked, "She really is quite a fascinating young lady."

"Astoundingly intelligent," Minerva agreed. "Very much like Miss Weasley, but – unfortunately – her interaction with the Weasleys resulted in that rather unfortunate sense of humour you have seen."

Raising his eyes to the witch, Giles couldn't conceal a grin. "And who do you think taught the Weasleys everything they know, by default through their father?" he inquired, an impish twinkle in his eyes.

"How could I forget?" McGonagall said evenly, sniffing and picking up her book once again. "Now, are we actually going to attempt to get any work done or are we simply going to spend the evening reminiscing about the dreadful old days when you seemed to harbour the delusion that you ruled this school?"

"Delusion? My dear Professor, I think you'll find that – when the staff weren't looking – we did, indeed, run this school and very efficiently, if I may be so bold as to say so."

"Ahem?" Both McGonagall and Giles looked at Wesley, struggling to contain their smiles. "Perhaps we should be working on this," he said, emphatically tapping the pile of books. "After all, I would hate to have to separate you in a wizards duel."

"Ditto the man on that," Lorne added, pulling a face. "Violence really doesn't solve any problems, y'know, and I'm betting when you can do the hocus pocus thing, it'll only be worse."

"A wise decision," Giles noted. "You don't want to give me ideas."

"You wouldn't even get far enough to draw your wand, Mister Giles," Minerva said smoothly. "Oh and don't worry, Mr. Wyndham-Pryce. We wouldn't dream of having a wizarding duel. Most undignified. I would simply turn Mr. Giles here into a pig and leave it at that."

Wesley shook his head. "And _that_," he said. "Is what worries me."

***

"Don't you feel kind of… I don't know… left out?"

Strolling down the broad expanse of grass with Xander by the faint light of the fading sun, Charles Gunn shrugged. "Not really," he replied honestly. "I only help 'em when they ask. I'm not around all the time. I guess that's why you feel out of it, huh? You're always around, so when you don't got anything to do, you feel it more."

"I guess so," Xander agreed mildly. "It's just weird being in a place where everything is about the magic and I'm… well… not. Even Dawnie has something to do here and me? I hang out with a half-giant."

The two youngest men had departed from the research meeting on the orders of Giles, who was insisting that all of the younger generation – with the exception of Wesley – take a break.

Cordelia, Buffy, Willow, Hermione, Faith and Anya had arranged a girl's night in, which both of them had been exempted from, leaving them free to either practice their fighting – which Xander really didn't want to – or hanging out in the silent castle – which Gunn didn't want to.

Both of them had been vastly relieved when an invitation had arrived from Hagrid, which suggested they come down and see the new beasts he had acquired for the Care of Magical Creatures class, in spite of the fact they knew they could very well be walking into a dangerous situation.

Anything to get out of the castle's confines for a little while.

The pair had seldom spent any time in one another's company before and had been comparing notes as they made their way down from the castle, because neither of them had ever found anyone close in their age to relate to their experiences.

After all, very few people of their age groups were even aware of the existence of vampires and demons, yet Xander and Gunn had both spent years fighting against them, in spite of being only mortal. They had both lost someone they loved to the darkness. They both helped supernatural beings in a fight for goodness in the world.

Despite the difference in their backgrounds and nature, both of them had found a strange kinship with the other, both being normal young men, yet being involved with the most magical and supernatural situations and people.

"Hangin' out with a half-giant… yeah, that's real normal," Gunn shook his head, grinning. "Somethin' tells me that no matter what, we're never gonna have a normal life. At least not the kinda normal life most people have."

"Do you think you'd want one?" Xander asked thoughtfully, studying Gunn out of the corner of his eyes. "If you had a chance to have a real, normal life and you knew all the stuff you know now, do you think you'd be able to live like that?"

Gunn looked at the younger man in surprise. While he already admired the way Xander had been fighting for so many years in spite of the fact he was just a kid, he still couldn't help being surprised by the depths that Xander revealed. He had a way of looking at situations that Gunn had never even thought of. 

"If I knew about the demons and shit?"

"Yeah," Xander paused, glancing out towards the lake through the gateway. "I know I couldn't go and live in a nice house with wife and kids if I knew that kind of thing was out there and no one was doing anything to help." He turned back to Gunn, a look of quiet acceptance on his face. "I think that's why I still do what I can, even if it doesn't look like much. It's still something."

"So you know that you're not just sittin' on your ass and lettin' people die?"

"Yeah."

Gunn nodded. It was familiar, this argument. He had fought for his people, for his friends, for the safety of those people under his leadership and the thought of being absent, not doing anything to help…

It was one of the reasons he had agreed to accompany Angel's group on this mission, after being told that it could result in the emergence of an evil that would surpass anything and everything they had ever fought this far.

If he could help, he knew he would, and seeing the arsenal they had been gathering, he was starting to get a vague idea of the sheer scale of the battle that seemed to be looming on the horizon.

When they had said 'bigger', it hadn't been an exaggeration. 

A Hell Goddess…

Looking ahead of them, the older of the pair could see what looked like a house just ahead of them, only a spiky silhouette against the even darker backdrop of the woods, faint light flickering in the windows.

The house of a Half-giant.

Weird how fairy stories seemed to be coming to life right in front of him.

Following Xander the distance to the small house, he waited politely behind the younger man as the door was yanked open by the immense man, whom he had only seen in passing and generally avoided for fear of being squashed, a wild volley of barking almost making him back away.

Hagrid looked terrifying, massive, hairy and always clad in clothes that looked like patched hides of some kind of weird beast, stomping around the grounds. All in all, he looked frightening.

"Xander! Ye could come after a'!"

Grinning, Xander nodded. "The girls are doing their… thing just now, so we figured we could come and see what you found," he replied cheerfully. "Hagrid, this is Gunn, Gunn, Hagrid."

A hand the size of a garbage can lid was extended and Gunn – after a moment's hesitation – shook it. To his surprise, he didn't come away with crushed fingers, the giant's grip strangely gentle for one so big.

"So yer a frien' o' the group at the school, eh?" the giant said in a voice that was little more than a booming rumble, his dark eyes bright behind the wiry mass of his beard and hair. "Haven' had the chance to meet all o' ye, yet." Motioning into the house, he beamed down at them. "Yer jus' in time ter see it."

"What's it?" Xander asked, as he entered.

Gunn took the chance to glance around the house, which looked as ramshackle inside as it did outside, the walls hung and lined with all manner of objects, from drying plants to the carcasses of animals and weapons. 

A fire crackled and spat merrily in the grate, under an immense copper kettle, from which steam was pouring. Gunn managed to leap back just in time to avoid being pounced upon by a massive, fearsome-looking dog.

"Holy shi…"

Xander caught the dog by the collar, hauling it back with great effort. "Down, Fang!" he yelled, laughing as the dog turned its attention to him and started licking his ears. "Fang! Get off!"

"Fang?" Gunn echoed faintly, staring at the dog. It looked as frightening as its owner on first appearance, but now it was bounding around Xander – who had just tripped and landed on his ass on the floor – like an exuberant puppy.

"He's a cute little thing, isn't he?" Xander smirked at the look on Gunn's face, as he struggled back onto his feet, fending off further licks and bounces by the dog. "So, what do you have this time, Hagrid?"

"Jus' a little thing this time, Xander," Hagrid chuckled. "Nothin' like Aragog."

"Aragog?" Gunn inquired, approaching the high table, where the giant had directed Xander, a large box – only a little smaller than a crate – standing there and shaking from side to side.

"I think he's an… uh… is it acromantula, Hagrid?"

"Wha? Aragog? Aye… aye, he's just a wee thing."

Leaning a little closer to Gunn, Xander muttered, "He's a giant spider and he's at least the same size as an elephant." Gunn felt swoop of nausea in his gut. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was spiders. Demons, yes. Vampires, not a problem. Spiders? Gross didn't come close. He figured it was the legs and the way they moved that freaked him out, creepy-ass things.

"And… uh… there's no big-ass spider in that box, right?"

"Phobia?"

"Sorta," Gunn ruefully admitted.

"Hagrid, is there something spidery in the box?"

"Spidery?" Hagrid looked over from the fire, where he was putting the kettle on, then shook his head. "No, no… this is somethin' special for the classes. Ye can open the box if ye want and take a look. I'll get ye a cup o' tea and we can have somethin' ter eat too if yer like."

"Sounds great," Gunn said with marked relief.

"Which part?" Xander asked in an undertone.

"The eating."

Xander cast a bemused glance at Gunn. "You've never seen Hagrid's kind of food, have you?" With a wry look at his companion, Gunn couldn't help but wonder if it would have been safer to stay in the castle. 

***

The solitary flame that flickered silently in the grate barely cast sufficient light to highlight the isolated figure seated before the mantle, his hands steepled before his face, his thin lips pressed against his interlocked fingers.

Since his classes had finished earlier that day, leaving his heaps of papers to be marked lying unceremoniously on his desk, Severus Snape had been seated in his chambers, his dark eyes lingered upon the paling heart of the flames.

Hours had passed by unnoticed, the sinking of the fire insignificant, his thoughts churning through his mind, every one of them lingering upon the small, slight young woman who had shared his bed the previous night.

What the devil had she become to him?

The encounter with the boggart that morning had proved she had become something beyond his conscious reckoning, even though he had lied about what the body upon the floor had meant. 

The Slayer represented by the boggart had not been sleeping, he knew. 

At least no sleep that she would wake from.

It was to his shock that he had realised what his greatest fear had become, but he could not understand how nor when nor why the tiny, blonde bundle of energy had wormed her way into his heart and mind.

Shifting to lean upon his right arm, his fingers curled slightly and resting against his cheek, Severus watched the faint sparks flaring from the core of the fire, his brow furrowed in thought.

Was it possible, he wondered, that he cared so greatly for her?

For so long, he had evaded the company of others, spending all of his time sheltering himself from emotion, shielding himself from the hurt he had so often felt as a child, rejected and hated by his family and peers.

Even now, he could not understand that she would willingly spend time in his company, even seek him out and concern herself about him. It was not pity, he knew. He recognised pity and it made him physically ill. 

No, it was not pity he saw in her.

Adept at understanding emotions, he knew she found him… likeable. It was strange, very strange, but he had not violated the sanctity of her mind to find an answer. That, in itself, was odd. Most people, he scanned at once, but Summers…

Part of him could not find the courage to do such a thing and another part of him was certain she would be far too strong for him to even try.

And he would not violate the trust she had placed in him, of all people, which he knew should scare him much more than it did.

The only person he had truly regarded as a friend had been Rupert Giles and now, this girl, this odd and bewildering little muggle individual, was stirring emotions in him that he had forced himself to ignore for so many years.

Such a cheerful, amiable, normal…

No, not normal. 

Never normal.

There was nothing about Summers that could be classed as normal, even in the best ways. Her physical and mental strength was beyond his comprehension, her courage and nerve equally so, the love and loyalty that flowed from and to her even more powerful than that directed at Dumbledore himself. 

She was harmonised contradiction personified, in Severus' eyes.

With the fate she had, with the role she was forced to play, he had almost expected her to be a world-weary battle-axe, as he had been for so many years, fatigued and depressed by the lack of success in her quest to defeat the shadows. 

Like her, he had fought against the darkness, but even after years of doing the same, she retained a purity and an energy which he had long since lost, which he had lost even before he had encountered the darkness for the first time.

From what he had seen, she was rarely disillusioned by the fight that lay before her, no matter how dark. Always determined and ready to do what she had to in order to save even one or two people, something even he had struggled to do.

Yes, she was stronger and better than anyone he had ever encountered, good and noble and so very much out of his league. Too good, too strong, too brave. He knew that when it came to it, he did not deserve her to even look upon him in kindness, let alone the affection he felt growing for her.

Exhaling, Severus lowered his hands to rest loosely in his lap, the faint flames softly highlighting his worn features, the shadows beneath his eyes making him look even older than usual.

Even if she pushed him away, he was shocked by the realisation that no matter what happened, he would be there to always ensure that no harm would come to her as long as he could help it.

"Dammit, Severus," he said softly to himself. "What has she done to you?"

***

"Ice cream?"

"Check!"

"Dawnie safely locked up in our room with Duncan and Spike for company?"

"Check!"

"No guys?"

"Check!"

"Chocolate?"

"Check, check, check and a helluva lot of check!"

Beaming, Cordelia laid down the notebook which had the list of necessities for the girls' night in. "Looks like we're all set to go," she said. "The meeting of the young ladies… and Faith has begun."

"You sayin' I'm not a lady, C?"

The Seer sniffed, though her eyes were twinkling. "Obviously."

"Damn, you know me too good," Faith half-laughed, leaning back on the heap of pillows, her legs stretched in front of her and crossed at the ankles. "So, how long do we think we got before the boys try to gate-crash?"

The six girls were in Willow and Hermione's bedroom, the heap of pillows on the floor nearly double in size, all of the girls clad in their most comfortable clothes, leaving them looking an oddly ragtag bunch. Faith was in her favourite black leather pants and vest, Cordelia was still looking irritatingly glamorous in sweatpants and a T-shirt with her hair loosely pulled in a knot on top of her head, while Hermione and Willow were both in casual skirts and Weasley jumpers.

The other two, though, could not have looked less muggle if they tried. Buffy was clad in her favourite blue robes using the excuse that it was cooler in Willow and Hermione's room than in hers. 

Anya was wearing a gaudily-coloured tunic and overrobe that looked cosy and comfortable, but also as if it had been pulled from a century old wardrobe, which – knowing her closest friend in the school – could well prove true.

"Actually, Albus told me that Xander and Charles have gone to visit Hagrid," Anya interrupted, unbuttoning several buttons on her outer robes. "He had something new and probably dangerous that he wished to show them. They will probably be quite some time, especially if it escapes."

"When you say dangerous…?" Cordelia began suspiciously.

"Oh, don't be afraid for Xander being broken," the former demon advised without looking up from her buttons. "I am certain Hagrid will prevent anything from eating your boyfriend."

"Reassured, Cordelia?" Hermione inquired, eyes twinkling.

A manicured nail was pointed at the brown-haired witch. "You're just trying to make me look like I'm all concerned for him!"

"And are you?" Willow asked, an impish look on her face as she looked over at the Seer. She was seated behind her lover, her arms about Hermione's neck.

Cordelia's lips twitched slightly, then she returned the smile faintly. "Okay, yeah, I am a little worried about him," she admitted, "and I don't think it's fair that you get to have your hunny at girlie nights!"

Hermione's eyes were half-closed and she leaned back into Willow's embrace. "It is the minor advantage of, in fact, being a girl," she observed, raising one hand to pointedly tap her breasts. "As are these."

"Nice pair you got," Faith smirked, shaking her hair back from her face. Reaching forward, she snagged one of the tubs of ice cream floating in the middle of the circle of friends, a mist of icy air hovering around them to keep them cool. "But that don't prove you're of the female. I know plenty of guys who've got better ones."

"Well, they're just fine for me, thank you," Hermione sniffed. "And for Willow, if I am any judge of her little squeaks…"

"HERMIONE!"

"You really like making her blush, don't you?" Buffy observed with a small smile, shaking her head as her red-haired friend's face went flaming scarlet and was promptly hidden in Hermione's thick hair.

Reaching up to pet Willow's hair, Hermione shrugged. "She makes it so easy," she answered with a mischievous smile. "But we're not here to discuss our love life. We're here to discuss your love lives or lack thereof."

"I think you don't get the term 'girls night'," Cordelia said hastily. "We don't talk about our relationships!"

"Little too shy about it, Cordelia?" Hermione challenged, smirking.

Had Cordelia been anyone else, she would have turned scarlet, but being who she was, the only signs of embarrassment were the faint patches of pink that flared on her cheeks. "No! We're doing great!"

"Really?"

"Yes!"

"You know," Faith leaned forward, studying the Seer intently, waving her spoon in Cordelia's direction. "I kinda get the feelin' she's not lyin'. You just don't wanna dish the dirt on your boy, huh? How cute."

"Faith, you're going the right way to have that ice cream poured on your head."

Faith just smirked around the spoon, settling back against the pillow. With her mouth full, she inquired, "What about you, An? What's the what with you and Old D? You were lookin' kinda down earlier. He not givin' enough in the sack?"

Collective nauseous looks passed around the four other girls.

"Faith! I have no complaints about Albus's sexual behaviour!" Anya exclaimed, looking slightly agitated. "I told you that I was concerned about men being moody and incapable of committing!"

"You… you want to get Dumbledore to settle down?" Hermione was the one to voice the question, staring at the former Demon. "Albus Dumbledore? The man who has been single for a hundred and twenty years?"

"Geez, An!" Faith whistled in admiration. "You know how to pick 'em."

Anya looked proud in part, but rather bashful on the other hand. "Well, I am working with what I remember from human courtship rituals. Normally, you are meant to have the romance, then something about love and then the marriage…" Her face fell. "And then the betrayal…"

"Betrayal?" Buffy echoed. "You're talking about Professor Dumbledore, Anya. I don't think he even knows how to betray anyone."

"I suppose that is true," Anya sighed, her expression lightening a little. "But how long does it take normally?"

Bemused looks passed between her five companions.

"We're probably not the best people to ask," Hermione replied, the others nodding in agreement around her. "My record so far is my best friend from school and now, I'm in love with his sister." 

"God knows how many," Faith offered.

"A demon computer, a werewolf and a witch," Willow added with a half-grin. "At least I didn't date any of their sister's, though." Hermione swatted her knee, both of them laughing.

Cordelia pulled a face. "Some High School jerks, Xander, a half-demon, a demon-host-guy who gave me spawn… and we won't even go into the other stuff, because just ew."

All eyes went expectantly to Buffy, who seemed to have suddenly taken a deep interest in her chocolate ice cream. "Angel, the souled vampire," she said quietly, lifting her eyes to them. "Parker, the jerk. Riley, the commando. Not exactly of the good for showing how a good relationship works."

"But you and…" Anya began, then clapped her mouth shut.

"But what?" Hermione said, sitting up a little straighter, curiosity on her face.

"Nothing!" Anya and Buffy both yelped, the Slayer flashing a glare at the sandy-haired ex-demon.

Hermione shot a side-long glance at Cordelia. "Do you get the feeling that we're not being told something here?" she inquired, turning to look up at Willow, who nodded, a suspicious look directed at Buffy from the red head.

"Well, we know she's not seeing Sirius," Willow said, her chin coming to rest on Hermione's shoulder.

"Nah," Faith smirked. "Got me a leash for the big bad puppy."

Green eyes widened. "Did anyone else just go to a scary visual place?"

"Scary?" Hermione blinked. "Good heavens, no! Sirius on a leash? In what world is that bad?"

"Hemione!"

The brown-haired witch gave her lover a prim look, as the other girls erupted in giggles. "You are the one who said if we were to ever invite someone else to join us, you hoped it would be Sirius."

"Hermione!" Willow's wail was even more plaintive.

"What is it, darling?"

Amid the brief distraction provided by the red head and her lover, Buffy and Anya exchanged looks, the Slayer sighing with relief that her little secret would – at least for now – remain concealed.

"You guys are wicked kinky," Faith looked from one to the other, catching the blonde Slayer's attention again. "You wanted my new boytoy to join in a threeway with you?"

Willow seemed to have vanished behind Hermione, making futile little squeaking sounds of embarrassment.

"Boytoy?" Cordelia interrupted rapidly. "Faith, since when do you have 'boytoys' that last more than fifteen minutes?"

The dark-haired Slayer smiled, an oddly shy smile. "Since I found a guy who had been in a worse place than I ever had and who kinda gets me."

Hermione gave her a wicked look. "Only 'kinda gets'?" she prompted, smirking.

Faith stared at her, then threw back her head, laughing loudly. "Hell, Red, if you hadn't got her," she said, grinning widely at the two witches. "You'd have serious competition for her and that mind of hers."

A faint squeaky noise came from behind Hermione.

"Willow," Hermione remarked, although her stage-whisper was laced with mischief. "Since we can't get Sirius on his own, how about we have Faith come along as well? After all, the more the merrier."

"HERMIONE!"

Around the two witches, the other girls couldn't help laughing.

***

Moonlight washed over the peak of the tower, giving everything a wintery blue hue, the moon cresting over the hills in the distance, a brilliantly bright grin against the darkness of the star-spotted sky.

The individual caught in the evening light, though, seemed oblivious to the beauty of that which surrounded him. Sitting on the broad balustrade, his legs dangling over the side of the tower, his attention seemed focussed inwards.

Every so often, a puff of air would escape his lips, a cloud of condensation floating away on the crisp, late-winter, early-spring air. Anyone else would have retreated indoors because of the cold, but the vampire didn't care.

As soon as the two teenagers in his care had fallen asleep – with a little help of sleeping potion applied to the plate of cookies to ensure that they did actually get some sleep at some point – he had wandered off through the castle, finding his way to the top of the tower where he now sat.

Bare hands spread on the stone beneath him, the surface rough against his skin, as he closed his eyes and tilted his head.

"Sneaking about again, eh, old man?"

"Is that how you speak to people of your own age, William?" Dumbledore said with a note of mock-disapproval in his tone, as he emerged from the shadows of one of the nearby gargoyles, his midnight blue robes rustling softly upon the stone beneath him.

"Nah," Turning slightly, Spike glanced over his shoulder. "Usually, I'm ruder. What dragged you all the way up here tonight? Demon girl still at that girlie thing that the Niblet was talking about?"

"If you are referring to Anya, then yes. She is in attendance."

Spike's lips lifted in a half-smile, eyes twinkling at the wizard. "Still takes me some getting used to hearing you calling someone who looks about twenty by their forename, instead of their surname," he remarked, swinging his legs back around and dropping onto his feet, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets. "But that doesn't answer my question. What brings you up here, to the tallest, gloomiest tower, when I'm the only person lurking about and looking magnificently broody? Not hanging about at those research parties with the other twits?"

"Research really isn't my forte and with Minerva and Mister Giles threatening one another constantly, it does get a little tiresome," Albus replied with a long-suffering sigh. "Also, I have provided all the knowledge I have to them. If they need my aid, all they need do is call. As for why I am here, would you believe me if I said I intended to prevent you from performing Angel's sole reason for being?"

Spike's scarred eyebrow lifted marginally, then he laughed. "You know, I knew there was a reason I liked you, mate," he said, shaking his head as he approached the old wizard. "So, you've come to stop me brooding and lurking?"

Dumbledore inclined his head. "If you find that definition of moping and pouting like a girl preferable, then yes," he said, his expression serious, but belied by the twinkle in blue eyes over half-moon spectacles.

"Thanks," said Spike sourly. "And how do you plan on doing that?"

"The same way two men have come to understand one another for centuries."

"You want me to beat the crap out of you?"

Dumbledore's mouth lifted in a subtle smile. "Pardon me, but I do believe I would be the one who was doing the 'crap beating' as you so eloquently phrased it, although I do believe that talking would serve as an equally satisfactory way to deliberate over our woes."

"Talking? You think that's the way men have sorted through their problems?"

The wizard shrugged with a small smile. "Did I mention that I have often been called insane and delusional?"

"I'm beginning to see why," Spike observed, straightening his arms, the muscles in his lean limbs flexing beneath Dumbledore's gaze. "So, old man, where are we going to do this talking thing?"

"Would you rather remain out here or partake in a hot chocolate?"

The vampire's nose wrinkled. "Can you make it the way Joyce does?" he inquired with a tone of feigned disinterest, his arms crossed over his chest. "If you can't, then you can just bugger off."

"I can always try. I'm sure there's one of the studies free, if you would join me…"

"S'pose so," Spike sighed, looking for all the world as if that were the worst suggestion he had ever heard, although it was belied by the half-smile he flashed at the old wizard.

Making their way back into the tower and starting down the winding staircase, they came to a halt before a painting of a tall, noble-looking man with dark hair pulled back from a striking face. Dumbledore studied the painting for several minutes.

Tilting his head, the vampire regarded him, unable to shake something not quite right about the man contained within the frame. He was clad in tan-coloured leather, but his face seemed almost deathly pale, his eyes – focussed in the distance – were tainted by a trace of gold.

"Who's the poof?" Spike asked vaguely.

Dumbledore smiled lightly, hands folded before him. "He was the previous owner of your book," he replied in a casual tone, his eyes moving to Spike's face in time to catch the vampire's reaction. "Surely you could tell he wasn't entirely human?"

Nearing the painting, Spike stared at the man contained within, wonder and surprise on his face. "Did you know him?"

"I did have the privilege of meeting him once, at the end of his exceptionally long life," Dumbledore answered with a small smile. "It was a long time ago, now, but I can still recall it in detail. If you consider your behaviour rude, then this gentleman could well have been your mentor. If he did not… appreciate your presence, he would be sure to let you know about it. Needless to say, he often made a bad impression because he did not suffer fools gladly."

"I get the feeling I would have liked him."

"I suspected you might say that." Dumbledore smiled slightly, turning to face the bleach-haired vampire. "He entrusted me with that book, which now resides in your possession. He believed that I would be an adequate judge, when it came to finding a new owner for it."

"In other words," Spike retorted dryly, his arms crossing, brow rising, "you find a vampire who doesn't try and bite your arse then the minute he says something non-threatening to you and you lob the book at him?"

Dumbledore smiled serenely. "How well you understand my mind, William. Alas, I am far too old and lazy to go gallivanting on a crusade to find a worthy vampire, so I took the first one who came along."

In spite of Dumbledore's tone, it was more than clear that the aged wizard had waited a long time before handing the book on. His joking words were entirely belied by the fact that both he and Spike knew that he had specifically chosen Spike to be the new owner, even over Angel.

Studying the picture thoughtfully, Spike raised a hand and trailed his fingertips over the canvas. "Isn't this one of those talking pictures, then?" he inquired, looking to the Head Master. 

"I am afraid not," Dumbledore replied. "To be bound to a portrait means that a little of your essence lingers on in the mortal realm, but our friend here felt his life had been prolonged enough. He was, however, kind enough to grant me this lasting image of him." Shaking his head, the wizard sighed. "A remarkable man."

"Would have liked to have a bit of a natter with him," Spike admitted ruefully, his gaze lingering on the painting. "I do sort of want to know what it was like, especially since he was the only one who managed."

"I do have a suggestion," Dumbledore said after a moment. 

"Oh?"

"Have you ever heard of a pensieve?"

Spike's brow wrinkled in thought. "Isn't that one of those memory thingies?" he asked. "The big bowls that you store your memories in? Giles mentioned something about one."

"Indeed it is," Dumbledore replied with a smile, his hands folded before him within his capricious sleeves. "Would you like me to find my meeting with our friend here? I'm sure it would prove very illuminating for you." 

The vampire stared at the old wizard in surprise. "You'd let me have a nose in your memories?"

"William, I found you deserving of the gift of the book that once belonged to this man, which ought to tell you that you are already an exceptional creature. I believe I can trust you with my memories regarding _him_."

Much to Dumbledore's amusement, his words triggered a rather reddish bloom across the face of the vampire, who looked both pleased with the commendation and vastly embarrassed by the same thing.

"Er… you do know I'm still evil, don't you?"

"Of course, William. Of course."

___________________________________

Author's Notes: Whee! It's done! 24 pages! Another long one! Only 18 chapters to go! Permit me a little dance. Although I still scare myself when I say that its ONLY 18 chapters. I have series that are shorter than that! Although, the majority are ten chapters. And yay! LotR/HP is working and I've been working on a LotR/Matrix cross that actually works! How I love my mind! :D

Oh and people who asked: I like short chapters because they take less time to write which means I get more chapters out if they're short than if they are long. Also, person who asked about Fred – she's not gonna feature. I'm taking the tangent that they don't go to Pylea. It was amusing enough, but I still think they could have done more with the Wolfram and Hart thing, instead of taking them off to a whole new dimension. Still, Numfar has me giggling every time I think about him. Bless Joss and his terrible dancing :D And I haven't seen S3 or S4, so I wouldn't be able to write Fred anyway :P

Also, this chapter was meant to be fairly short, but I had an idea at the last minute and just had to incorporate it, because it was far too tempting. Oh and yes, I've read OotP and I have another crossover idea already.


	58. Conspiracy Theory

* * *

Conspiracy Theory

Notes: As per usual, I have to make vast and numerous apologies for the time take over this particular chapter, but as has been mentioned in previous chapters, I have been hectically busy last summer and now that I'm home and working from pretty much 10.00-22.00 (due to travel times and whatnot), I'm working on a computer time limit, so I don't get to write as much as I would like to.

Add to that the fact I haven't worked on this for months, so it's taking a while to get back into it because my mind's been off to play with the Lord of the Rings and Pirates of the Caribbean, as well as role playing online and visiting Sweden, the States and Ireland... well, I have excuses and many of them. Once again, your pardon, but this series will be finished. It has to be. I have bit of 6 chapters of the sequel written, so I can hardly leave it lying when it would make no sense for the sequel, can I? :)

P.S. Yes, I have read Order of the Phoenix and no, I don't intend to change the story to fit in with the changes. I've had this story in the works since Goblet of Fire came out and it is planned to the end. I refuse to change what I have now, because the story was planned before OotP and that's the way it was designed. Changing anything to match OotP now would make the rest of the story impossible, so I'm sticking with the path I started on. Same goes for most of my other crossovers, since I'm always so ridiculously organised in advance :)

* * *

Spring was assuredly on its way at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. On occasion the sun would peer out from behind misty threads of cloud, before hiding its face once more, though the warmth lingered on.

In the Great Hall of the school, a small knot of students were gathered around Dawn Summer and Duncan Cameron and, while they denied they were up to anything, it was obvious that some mischief was afoot.

"Dare I ask what they're up to?" Giles asked in an undertone, glancing at Minerva McGonagall out of the corner of his eye. They were providing staff presence in the study hours that were ongoing, seated at the high Table and feigning marking while, in fact, playing noughts and crosses.

"Growing paranoid, Mr. Giles?" Minerva's eyes were upon the parchment before her, but he could see the knowing curve of her lips. "After all, I hardly think that Miss Summers and Mr. Cameron could be that bad, compared to a certain other ruffian seated not too far from me."

Giles chose to ignore the retort that hung on the tip of his tongue, eyes darting back to the group of teenagers, one of whom had just turned an odd shade of purple. "It's not Dawn and Duncan's natures that I'm concerned about," he replied honestly. "It's the fact they've been in touch with Art's twins."

Green eyes lifted, a touch of consternation in them as she stared at Giles. "You let your young charge near the Weasley twins without supervision? Dear God, man! What were you thinking?"

"At the time," Giles retorted. "I was rather thinking about finding a cure for the potion Art slipped me, thank you very much. The daft bugger should know he shouldn't have double-crossed me like that!"

Minerva shook her head, chuckling softly. "Once a monkey, always a monkey," she said, looking around as the staff door opened, the lean form of Spike easing through and wandering over, flopping down in the seat beside her. "Afternoon, William."

"Mmm."

Two pairs of green eyes met, surprised, then Giles looked at the blond vampire and asked, "Spike, is something bothering you?"

The vampire seemed almost surprised to have been acknowledged and cast a wan grin at them. "Just thinking," he answered, swinging his feet up onto the staff table, lacing his fingers over his belly. "Not a crime, is it?"

With a firm thwack of a palm upon the back of a blond head, which succeeded in knocking the vampire's booted feet off the polished tabletop by default, Minerva sniffed. "In your case, it might well be, Billy."

"Daft cow," Spike's voice was warm, though his smile was little more than a twitch of his lips. Shifting, he sank down in the chair, scanning about the hall, before closing his eyes.

"So you come wandering all the way down here from our room to just fall into a chair and start sleeping?" Minerva almost sounded annoyed, but she was having great difficulty smothering a smile. "You really are a dreadfully lazy wretch."

"Had a late night," Spike mumbled drowsily. "Ended up chatting with the Bearded Wonder and I think I saw what a sunrise looks like through the magic roof thingie, but I'm not sure. Might have been Niblet setting her bed on fire."

"Spike! You were meant to be watching Dawn," Giles' voice was low, angry. "It was your respons..."

"Mate, you want a baby-sitter who doesn't get bored and look for something more interesting to do, look somewhere else, right? I just gave 'em both some biscuits with a nice sleeping draught in 'em. Didn't have any trouble after that."

"You... drugged Dawn and Duncan?"

Blue eyes opened, regarding him lazily. "Well, if you wanna put it that way, yeah," he replied, amusement clear in his tone. "Watched 'em sleeping like babies for a bit, then went for a chat with Old Dumble."

"Spike..."

"Giles, mate, _I_," he said, pointing at himself, speaking very slowly to be sure that Giles understood what he was saying. "Am a vam-pire." He made an almost Monty-Python gesture of fangs with his fingers. "I do bad things. I knock out the kids in my care. I abandon my baby-sitting duties." With every statement, a more horrified look crossed his face. "_I_ am _evil_!"

"And the fact that you were doing babysitting duties in the first place does not in any way undermine your statement that you are, in fact, a terribly evil vampire," Minerva said innocently, not looking up from the page she was marking.

Spike scowled at her. "Minnie, luv, you're ruining my reputation."

"No, Billy," she looked up and smiled sweetly at him. "You're successfully doing that all by yourself."

"Cow."

"Bunny." She counted off on her fingers, reaching four before he spoke.

"Give me time, luv, and I'll kill you."

"Kill me, eh?"

"Yeah. Kill you. Dead."

Chuckling, she returned her attention to her marking. "You almost scared me that time, Billy."

Spike snorted petulantly. "Just so you know," he said. "I hate you all. A lot."

Blindly, Minerva reached out and patted him on the head. "Of course you do, Billy, dear," she said fondly.

* * *

"But it's meant to be romantic!"

Seated in his private rooms, reading a newspaper, as Anya flounced about, making impatient gestures, Albus merely smiled serenely. "But we are in a school, so I hardly imagine the children would appreciate the sentimental motivation behind the festival."

With the long weekend just started and no classes or complaints to deal with, the Head Master had been enjoying a quiet morning, when Anya had dropped in for a visit, immediately after breakfast.

Of course, it wasn't rare for her to be in the Head Master's eccentrically-decorated rooms, the colourful tapestries clashing horribly with the vivid rugs and numerous shades of wood panelling.

Not to mention the immense brass hood over the hearth, which was covered with charmed engravings of Dumbledore's sweet of choice for the day. Today, it was After Eight Mints.

The former demon folded her arms. "You just don't like romantic things! I thought you would humour me and let me do this! It's what men are meant to do for their... special person! I read it on a greeting card!"

"Anya," the newspaper was lowered and the Head Master regarded her with fond amusement. "If you wish to celebrate the death of a Saint, then by all means, be my guest, but I cannot allow you to disrupt the students. I simply find the whole situation rather tedious."

"But I _am_ your guest, Albus," Brown eyes flashed in annoyance. "And I want for you to let the students have a Valentine's party! With cards! And rude greetings! And blushing children!" Approaching him where he sat close to the fireplace, she knelt down beside him, placing a hand imploringly on his sleeve. "Please, Albus?"

Folding the paper, he studied her, eyes bright behind his spectacles. "You really want to celebrate this?" he said. "Might I ask why?"

Anya frowned. "Because."

"Because why?"

"Because I do!" she replied, glaring at him. "That should be reason enough! I want you to humour me or I will be most annoyed! I have only had one Valentine's day as a human since I lost my powers and now, you're ruining the second one! I thought you liked me and now, you're spoiling the romantic day before it even happens! Most celebrations aren't ruined until during the day, but you're ruining it the day before and I don't like it!"

Dumbledore's brow furrowed. "Anya..."

"Forget it!" Throwing her hands up, Anya scrambled onto her feet, stamping towards the door. "If you want to be the... Ebeneezer Scrooge of Valentine's Day, I don't care! Sit and say 'bah hamburg!'! See if I care!"

"Anya, wait a moment," Rising from his chair, Dumbledore raised a hand in a slow, placating gesture. "I need to tell you something."

A hopeful look crossed Anya's face. "Oh?"

"Yes," He smiled at her. "It's 'Bah, humbug', not hamburg."

The former demon blinked at him and uttered a litany of expletives that turned the Head Master's ears pink, before turning and storming out of the door, slamming it behind her with enough force to instigate a squawk of protest from Fawkes.

Chuckling, Dumbledore reached out to the brass fireplace hood, muttering the charm that allowed him to pick a mint from the metal. "Well, Albus, she really is going to hurt you dreadfully when she finds out what you've done."

"Yes, she really is," his own portrait replied from the wall behind him. "We are dreadful, aren't we?"

Smiling, Dumbledore nodded, resuming his seat. "We most certainly are."

* * *

"You doin' anythin'?"

Buffy ducked under a punch. "Why would I be?"

Both of the Slayers were in one of the training rooms on the ground level, taking the chance to practise since Buffy's classes were finished for the long weekend and Faith was wanting some sparring practise.

Clad in form-fitting shirts and pants, both of them had their long hair drawn back in ponytails, the chilly sunlight light spilling through the high windows like an immense spotlight as they went through their routines on the polished wood of the floor.

Flipping back to avoid the kick the blonde Slayer directed at her legs, Faith landed on her feet, dropping into a crouch. "I dunno, B," she replied, eyes dancing. "You and tall, dark n' gloomy seemed to be hittin' it off in a big unresolved-tension kinda way."

Giving her sister-Slayer a smug look, Buffy retorted, "Who said there was anything unresolved about it?"

Brown eyes bugged and Buffy sucker-punched Faith, knocking her squarely on her backside on the floor. Accepting the hand the blonde offered her, Faith pulled herself upright, still staring at Buffy in astonishment.

"You mean you got in under old Cranky's batcape? Well, B, I gotta say you got me impressed."

The elder Slayer laughed. "I never said that," she replied, eyes dancing. "But it made you look so I could knock you down."

"Dirty tactics, huh?" Dark brows wiggled implicitly. "Gotta say the guy gotta be slippin' you the good stuff to make you do the dirty on me, big sister."

"Faith!"

"Like you're surprised."

The blonde's smile was rueful. "I guess I should have remembered." she observed, dusting her hands down on her pants.

"C'mon, B," Faith grinned at her, eyes dancing. "Sure, you're all robed up and makin' out with the big, bad broody Batman wannabe! You thought I'd be any different just cos you've Glinda-ed out on me?"

The blonde raised her eyebrows. "Just because I'm helping teach here doesn't mean I'm all... witchy."

"Uh-huh. Says the Slayer who is always wearin' those robey things."

"Hey! They keep me warm, okay?"

Brown eyes glittered with amusement, forearm blocking a punch. "You sure you don't use 'em to get your boy hot and bothered? You got that cute little set of buttons fastened right across your ti..."

"FAITH!"

The dark-haired Slayer laughed. "Where'd you get 'em anyhow? Even Red isn't runnin' around in things as nice as them."

"You've been checking out what Willow's wearing?"

"Hey, now I know she plays that side of the field as well, I don't gotta feel guilty about lookin', do I?"

Buffy blinked. "And just got a visual I _so_ didn't need."

"Glad to be of service," Faith smirked. "So, where'd'ya get 'em?"

Buffy glanced across at the deep blue robes, which were slung over the training vault, then shrugged. "Giles said they were to apologise for screwing up a potion that I ended up drinking."

"G-man picked out something like that?" Faith snorted, sweeping Buffy's legs out from underneath her. "Sure."

"Why the cross-examination?" A flip brought the blonde back to her feet. "Don't tell me you want some..."

An odd expression flitted across Faith's face, then she half-smiled. "Kinda thought it might be a good idea to try and sorta fit in a bit more," she said, almost succeeding in sounding off-handed.

Buffy slowly started to grin. "I see what you're doing," she said, her eyes dancing. "I think this is all so you can get robes so Sirius doesn't feel too bad about being involved with a mugger."

"That would be 'Muggle', B."

"I'm right, though, aren't I? You want to look good for your puppy."

"My puppy?" Faith snorted. "He'd be pissed off if he heard ya callin' him that."

Buffy grinned. "Sirius angry with me?" She hefted one of the quarterstaffs to Faith, who caught it right away. "He's too scared that I'll rip his arms off. Or something." She smirked. "He was kinda freaked by how strong I was and hasn't really looked at me the same since he saw me killing a pack of demons."

Raising her staff to block a blow, Faith raised her brows. "So Red wasn't kiddin' when she said Sirius had a thing for you?"

"Sirius looks a lot," Buffy replied, easily diverting a blow aimed at her head. "But I think you're the first person he's got close to." Faith quirked a brow. "You jumped on him, Faith. The guy's never had anyone do that."

"You point out the cookies, I taste 'em," Faith replied with a nonchalant shrug and grin that was belied by the warmth in her expression, which had emerged at the first mention of the dark-haired Animagus.

"You know what I mean," Buffy said, shaking her head, as she blocked another sharp swipe from the other Slayer's staff. "He's not usually into the doing-things-thing because of everything that happened."

"Everything being his friend screwing him over and leaving him to rot in jail?"

The blonde looked a little chagrined. "Faith..."

"B, you had every reason to hate me," the dark-haired girl said, planting the end of her staff on the floor at her feet and studying her sister Slayer. "I don't blame you for wantin' to see me go down. Hell, I don't blame me for wantin' to get sent down. I did things and there's no way could even try and make up for 'em without doin' the time for it."

"It's my fault, Faith..."

Brown eyes rolled expressively. "B, don't even go there." Buffy opened her mouth to protest, but the dark girl held up a hand. "I screwed up. I wanted to think you were tryin' to prove you were better than me. I hated it because..." She sighed. "I hated it because they were right and the more I screwed up, the more right they were."

Buffy frowned. "I still shouldn't have left you to deal with it on your own."

"B, you tried, remember?" Faith sighed again. "Look, it's way over now. It doesn't matter anymore." A hand that still bore faint scars was held out. "We're buddies, sisters at arms, right?"

The older Slayer nodded, grasping Faith's hand at once. "You bet." she said, her expression warming. "I'm glad you're here, Faith. I don't think we could have done this without you on our side."

Faith actually looked like she was blushing, rolling her eyes. "Sure, B. You're just tryin' to kiss my ass, so I won't kick yours."

"You know me too well," Buffy said, laughing, though she couldn't help feeling a little relieved that proper peace had been made between them now.

There had always been that guilt gnawing at her, ever since she had seen the state Faith was in when she had been busted out of jail. Now, though, they were friends again, and she had a feeling it would turn out better this time.

"So... Sirius..." Hazel eyes twinkled. "What's going on with you two? Is it serious?"

"B, this is me we're talkin' about. I don't do serious."

"But you do do Sirius?"

Faith groaned. "I'm gonna have to kick your ass for that, B." she cautioned. "Bad puns, yeah, okay, you're the Slayer, you gotta make the big bads worry, but that... That was seriously crap."

Buffy whirled her staff, tossing it to her left hand. "You can try," she challenged, taking up a defensive stance, both girls grinning as they started to fight afresh.

* * *

"He won't be happy about this," Willow mumbled.

She was sitting on the lawn of the castle, near the lake, close to Hermione, putting the finishing touches on a note with a charmed quill that she had sent to her elder brother. Her claim was that he would know if it was a good one. He had immediately sent it back, saying it was shoddy quality.

However, what Percy did not realise was that - by using the quill - he had generously offered a specimen of his hand-writing.

"It's for his own good," Hermione replied decisively, lying on her belly on a smoothly spread tartan blanket on the grass and continuing to work on her own letter. "He'll never get up the nerve to ask her without us to give him a helping hand."

Willow frowned. "And what if she says no?"

"To a date on Valentine's Day?" A third voice interrupted, both girls looking up as a pair of shadows stretched over them both. "Puh-lease! Even if its an English guy, a lame date is better than no date!"

"Cordelia! That's my brother you called lame!" Willow protested, shifting a little as Cordelia dropped down on the blanket beside her, Lorne setting up his own deck chair on the grass and adjusting his shades, shaking his head in amusement as he straightened a reflective board under his face, a magically-chilled Seabreeze settled on a hovering tray at his hand-level.

The demon had taken to the magic lifestyle like a very green and stylish duck to water, especially after the discovery that his very nature meant he was capable of performing some basic charms without thought. His favourite was present, in the form of his hovering cocktail tray.

"And?" the dark-haired girl responded to the red head with a grin. "I notice you don't correct me. So... which brother is it, who are you setting him up with and how high on the oh-my-god-I'm-going-to-kill-you embarrassing level is it?"

"We're not setting anyone up, persay," Hermione looked offended. "We... we're giving Percy a bit of a helping hand."

"Percy? As in red-haired Wesley?"

The two witches exchanged looks, then grinned sheepishly. "I guess he is kinda... Wesley-ish..." Willow admitted. "Y'know, before Wesley got all Rogue-Demon-Huntery and stuff and... hey! Do you think Percy would be a good Rogue Demon Hunter?"

"Sweetpea, please!" Lorne raised a hand from beneath his sun-reflecting screen. "I so don't need to see your brothers on motorbikes, wearing black leather and trying for the love of Travolta to be butch!"

"Wrong brother," Hermione snickered. "You're thinking of Bill."

"Red, sweets, you have way too many brothers," the demon complained, settling back in his seat. "And if I'm gonna make a recommendation for a nice lil date, try somewhere stylish and with a certain..."

"Expensiveness?" Cordelia finished. Lorne opened one scarlet eye. "What? A girl wants to be spoiled."

"You more than most, cutie," Lorne replied, closing his eye again.

Pulling a face at the demon, Cordelia turned her gaze back to the two girls. "So what have you got planned for the lovebirds? And who is the girl whose about to be Wesley-fied?"

"We've arranged for them to go out for dinner."

"Romantic dinner," Hermione added with a broad smile.

"The kind without death and blood and guts."

"And with candlelight and food."

"So, pretty much the kind that doesn't usually involve anyone who has ever lived in Sunnydale?" Cordelia hazarded a guess.

"Yeah!" Willow said brightly, then frowned. "Except Amy is kinda Sunnydaley..."

"Amy?" Looking from one girl to the other, Cordelia cocked her head, frowning a little. "Rat-Amy? You're setting up Rat-Amy with your brother? Doesn't she kinda... have a thing for... uh... the other one of your brothers? With... uh... the red hair?"

"See, here's the not-so-good thing," Willow laid the quill down and dropped her hand to rest on her girlfriend's back as she spoke. "Amy likes Ron, but Ron is... well..."

"Ron," Hermione finished. "He never sees what's right in front of him. He likes Buffy. And when I say like, if you watch him when he's close to her, he's practically drooling on her shoes."

"Typical Buffy-induced reaction then," Cordelia's nose wrinkled. "So you think Rat-Amy would want to go out with this other-brother because...?"

"Because Percy fancies the knickers off her and Percy never ever fancies anyone."

"So... instead of Ron-drooling-on-Buffy, you're going for the Percy-drooling-on-Amy-drooling-on-Ron-drooling-on-Buffy?" Cordelia shook her head. "Sounds like perfect material for Oprah. And dinner? You think that would be enough to change her mind about red-Wes?"

Hermione looked up at the girl in exasperation. "Well, do you have any suggestions, then?"

Cordelia slowly started to smile.

"Oh God..." Willow groaned.

"Trust me. With your witchiness and me on your side," Cordelia all but purred, a speculative gleam in her eyes that did nothing to reassure Hermione or Willow. "By the time Percy's done, Amy won't even remember Ron's name."

Lorne slanted a red-eyed glance at the trio, the chuckled. "And this, ladies, is why I stay out of female affairs."

* * *

"Y'know, just sometimes, I kinda hate being normal."

Gunn grinned across the table at the younger man who was sitting opposite him in The Three Broomsticks, who was morosely nursing a butterbeer, as if it was his only friend in the world. "Hey, we get time off. Don't knock it."

Xander looked up. "Yeah, but I'm _bored_."

"Not our fault we can't read that wizard shit," Gunn offered. It was true, that. While Gunn hadn't even tried, Xander had struggled through a book of history of Wizard society and had been forced to give up, the spells and incantations far beyond anything he could even hope to understand.

"But we don't even have anything to kill here," Xander grumbled. "At least at home, I had vampires I could dust."

"And there y'all go soundin' all homicidal and crazy and scarin' away the nice magic people," Charles chuckled, shaking his head.

With a sheepish look, Xander waved vaguely at a little witch, who was beating a hasty retreat towards the door. "I'll stop now," he promised, then glowered down at his beer for several minutes. Gunn could nearly count the seconds to perfection until there was another huff of frustration. "I want to be doing something."

Sipping his firewhisky, the older man didn't look at him. "I couldn't tell."

Xander smiled ruefully. "I guess we could always go and see Aragog," he suggested, a smirk playing about his lips.

"No." Gunn said firmly. "And make it a Hell no. I ain't goin' near no big ass spider."

"Scared?"

Charles studied the image he had been looking at for several minutes. "No, but I think you should be, if you got a brain in that pretty head of yours," he said, slowly smiling as he looked back at Xander. "You are screwed."

"Huh?"

With a slight incline of his head, Gunn nodded towards a sign. "You forgettin' what date it is?"

Xander followed the direction of Gunn's look, then - realising what he was seeing - his face went white. "But it can't be then already, because we only came over here... quite a while back now... oh God... she'll kill me..."

Gunn smirked. "Scared?"

Looking at him, pushing aside the butterbeer, Xander was on his feet and heading for the door.

"At least you got somethin' to keep you busy now," Gunn called after him, then turned with a broad smile to the younger of the two barmaids, making the universal gesture that she should join him. "And so," he muttered to himself, unable to stop himself grinning. "Do I."

* * *

"If you don't deal with her, baby, you're leaving me no choice."

Lucius planted himself between Glory and the door, his expression deadly serious, grey eyes glittering like gunmetal in the late afternoon light that was peering lazily through the window of the study. "You will not touch her."

Glory glowered at him. "And you're gonna stop me? How exactly you planning on that, cupcake? And remember I can squish your pretty little head like a grape," One manicured hand shot out and almost lifted Lucius off the floor, jerking him closer to the Goddess's face. "You don't wanna make me cranky."

Grey eyes stared coldly at her. "You forget you cannot get what you need without me," he said coolly, calm and devoid of fear. He had not been one of Voldemort's elite without learning to control and mask his emotions.

"Yeah, but if she keeps on stickin' her nose in, we're not going to get in anyway, are we?" Glory snarled, throwing him away from her without enough force to smash him through the study door and send him scudding across the floor to land in a dishevelled heap on the other side of the passage.

Struggling onto his feet, pressing a hand to his bruised shoulder, Lucius glared back at the woman.

"I told you I will take care of this matter, Glory," he said, calm, cold. "Despite what you may think on the matter, she is my wife and therefore, she is my responsibility. If you touch her, I am afraid our relationship would come to an end." There was almost the suggestion of a smirk on thin, pale lips. "Which would be rather... unfortunate for you, considering how far we have come."

The Goddess folded her arms upon her chest, hate simmering on her features. "I'm really startin' to not like you, poodle," she observed darkly. "Yeah, you're useful, but you're not the only person I could use..."

Even as the words escaped her, Lucius smirked and both of them knew why.

He was the only one likely to help her. Too many half-bloods and Muggle-borns had lost loved ones to her mind-drain. Many others were too afraid of the repercussions. He was the only one self-indulgent enough to risk his life by assisting her.

With an almost mocking bow, Lucius inclined his head. "As I said, ma'am, I will see to our little problem as _I _see fit." Turning away from her, he limped away without looking back, leaving Glory seething and itching for a chance for her own revenge.

* * *

"Giles! You're not helping!"

Looking up from the parchments he was attempting to mark without anyone to distract him, Giles exhaled a frustrated breath. "Do tell me, Xander, is there a sign on my door which suggests I have the vaguest idea what you should get Cordelia for Valentine's day?"

"But you're a guy! An old..." Giles' brows lifted in challenge. "Older," Xander hastily amended, leaning on the other side of the desk, the torches hanging on the walls casting dancing shadows and light upon them, the evening sky a dull grey as the sun disappeared beyond the mountains. "Guy! You should know what to get for people that won't annoy them!"

"Xander, do recall my fortunes with women since you have met me."

Brown eyes blinked, then realisation passed across his face. "Oh."

"Yes, oh. Even you have been more successful than I."

"So you don't have any idea...?" The former Watcher exhaled a sharp breath through his nostrils. "Uh... okay... I guess some kinda flowers or something would be good."

"Xander, this is Cordelia we are discussing. I hardly think flowers would be the most definitive choice."

"Then what?"

"Some elaborate token, perhaps."

"Jewellery?"

Giles massaged his forehead with his fingertips, his other hand making an abrupt dismissive gesture. "Find someone closer to your own age to harass, Xander. I'm hardly the expert in young womens' tastes and I do have rather a lot of work to do at the moment."

"Right... uh... do you think Gunn or Wesley..." The question trailed off into silence as green eyes lifted to him in disbelief. "Uh... I guess not." Xander flashed his best puppy-dog grin at the older man. "I'll be going now."

Bending back over his vast accumulation of paperwork, Giles muttered something that sounded strangely like "Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

However, just when it seemed he might actually get some work done, the door opened again. He didn't even deign to lift his head, his eyes flicking up briefly, then back down to the page before him.

"Mister Giles..."

"Just Giles will suffice, Hermione."

"Very well, Giles... do you know what Willow's stance is on Valentine's day? I mean, personally I find it a rather commercial holiday, but I don't want to upset her by not getting a card or something for her."

Green eyes closed. Bloody fabulous.

"Giles?"

Placing his pen down, removing his glasses and folding his hands on the desk, Giles lifted his attention to the witch. "I'm afraid I have never been involved with Willow, Hermione, so I can hardly be the one to inform you of her tastes. Up until two months ago, as far as I was aware, Willow liked men, so as you can see, I'm hardly an expert on the matter."

A sheepish grin crossed Hermione's lips. "I suppose that's true." Glancing at the heap of pages before him, she winced a little. "I ought to leave you to finish those," she said, before making a break for the door, no doubt expecting his request for aid, the heavy panel of wood slamming closed heavily behind her.

Swiping his hands over his face, the former Watcher exhaled a breath.

Honestly, sometimes the adults were so much worse than the children!

And it was only made worse by the fact that his own adopted brood of the so-called Slayerettes seemed to be expanding by the month, a veritable swarm of young adults looking to him for advice and guidance.

"Rupert!"

"Minerva," With a voice that sounded like it was tightly drawn, Giles smiled thinly at the Professor standing in the doorway. "If you have come to me for advice on Valentine's Day, I would much prefer that you leave me. Or kindly perform the avada upon me."

"What on earth are you on about, man?" Minerva huffed in exasperation, hands on her hips, as she looked around the room. "I'm looking for Billy. The bloody wretch filched my wand again and I need it."

Giles blinked.

"I suppose that means you haven't seen him, then. Well, if you do, tell him that when I lay my hands on him, I won't need a stake to do the work I have in mind."

With that, she swept out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Returning his attention to the work before him, Giles was very proud of the fact that he managed to get four whole scrolls marked before the door opened again. He dared a glance, then looked back down at the papers.

"Good evening, Faith."

"Hey, G."

A frown furrowed his brow. No questions? Looking up, he watched the Slayer wander the length of the dim classroom, trailing her fingers along the desks and looking around, as if interested. "Can I help you with something?"

"Me?" Faith grinned at him in a way that did nothing to reassure him. "Nah."

Paranoia immediately kicked in.

"Dare I ask why you're here?"

The dark-haired Slayer shrugged. "Just curious about B's class," she replied, bending to peer at one of the dummies. "What's this do?"

"Serves for target practise."

A book was hefted. "For reading, right?"

"Obviously."

The Slayer hopped up onto one of the desks and glanced up at the skeleton suspended from the ceiling on chains. "What's that?"

Taking off his glasses and polishing them on his shirt, Giles sighed. "I believe it is the skeleton of a dragon."

"No shit!" Faith exclaimed, leaping down. "So they're real, huh?" The former Watcher nodded, picking up his quill again. "You seen them?" Another impatient nod, Giles' attention back on the papers in front of him. "Where'd they come from?"

"What?" he inquired, distracted.

"B's robes?"

"Severu..." Giles caught himself, green eyes meeting brown, startled and Faith's lips curled in a grin.

"Thanks, G," she said cheerfully, turning and strolling back towards the door. "All I wanted to know."

"That was unfair!"

The Slayer whirled around, flashing a smirk at him. "That's life, G!" she said, laughing, her eyes dancing. "I'll pass on old Cranky's compliments to B. She was wonderin' where those things came from."

Sinking down in his seat, Giles groaned as the door closed. "Severus will bloody well kill me..."

* * *

"Woof."

In the large bedroom on the high floor of the castle, three girls slept on.

"Woof!"

A dark-haired teenager rolled over onto her other side, pulling a blanket over her shoulder, muttering something incoherent. The bed further across the room, a blonde was smiling in her sleep.

"Woof?!"

In the bed closest to the window, a dark-haired young woman flopped onto her back, the heavy blankets and sheets hanging half-off the bed, one lean leg dangling over the side of the mattress.

"WOOF!!!"

The hooded face peering in the condensation-misted window twisted in an impatient expression and gave up on the quiet facade, rapping on the glass, with a loud and pointed hiss of, "Hey! I said woof!"

Starting, all three girls jolted upright. Out of bed in an instant, Faith whipped an axe and dagger out from somewhere beneath her blankets, then stopped short at the window and rolled her eyes.

"Who is it?" Buffy demanded, rubbing her eyes sleepily. She, like Faith, had moved on sheer instinct and was standing by Dawn's bed, in front of her sister, a short sword in one hand, her other hand on the half-asleep Dawn's shoulder.

"A dumb dog," Faith replied, laughing and reaching up to undo the brass catch on the window, pulling the heavy window inwards and giving the innocently-blinking Sirius a look. "What the hell are you doin', dumbass?"

Sirius pushed back his hood and shifted on his toes on the window-sill, cocking his head. "I thought I better make sure I got you first this morning," he said, then held out a hand to her. "Would you like to go out with me?"

"Huh?"

"Oh God," Buffy groaned, pulling Dawn's blankets up to tuck her sleeping-again sister in more snugly before approaching the pair at the window. "You couldn't get a normal one, could you?"

"Normalcy is for people who find reality a nice place to live," Sirius said sagely, then looked to Faith, his smile dashing. "And as I just said I'm here to ask you to go out with me."

"Now?" Faith gaped at him. "In the middle of the night?"

He shrugged. "Can't think of a better time," he said, then nodded out over the grounds, the near-full moon casting a faint glow over the mountains in the distance and shimmering a faint reflection on the lake, between wisps of cloud. "Its quiet and there's no one to stop us." He gave her a meaningful look and she knew exactly why he had chosen to come and find her this way. "I thought you might like it."

"Yeah, sure I like weird guys showin' up at my window and askin' me out... totally normal for me," she replied, then glanced beyond him, half-expecting to see a broom hovering behind him. "Uh... Sirius, how'd'you get up here anyhow? We're more than five levels up."

The wizard's eyes gleamed. "I travel in style," he replied, whistling softly.

With a slap of wings, a strange and magnificent creature rose into view, an eagle's body to the fore and a horse's to the rear, great golden eyes staring down at the Slayer who took a step back, staring at the creature.

"Holy..."

Reaching out, Sirius clapped a hand against the... thing's neck. "This beautiful little creature is Buckbeak," he said, then looked at Faith, his eyes bright. "So... do you want to come out with me?"

Faith glanced back at Buffy, who just shook her head grinning. "Go and play," the blonde Slayer said. "I can hold the fort for a while."

"You sure, B?"

Buffy nodded. "Positive."

In less than an instant, Faith had slung a dagger belt on with a muttered explanation of 'in case' and was climbing onto Buckbeak's back behind Sirius, wrapping her arms around him waist, shifting short-clad legs to settle as comfortably as she could on the hippogriff's back.

"You better be okay when I get back, B," she cautioned, as Buffy approached to close the window. "Or I'm gonna be pissed. I wanna see how you know who reacts to you know what."

"You're a sick woman, Faith," Buffy laughed. "Now go! Have fun!"

Faith's eyes danced. "Always do, B!" she called, as Sirius jabbed Buckbeak's sides and the Hippogriff rose in the air, soaring away from the castle as Buffy closed the window, unable to smother a small smile.

* * *

Soft footfalls carried around the Great Hall.

Shadowy figures moved with specific intent.

Flickers of light indicated that enchantments were being cast.

"You do know she'll want to kill you," one of the three figures said in lowered tones, as he hurried after the ring leader of the particular group currently placing jinxes and spells all over the massive chamber.

"That is, in part, my reason."

Blue eyes met blue. "You're a weird bloke, y'know."

"It has been observed."

A smaller figure hurried up to them. "How much more do you intend to do?"

The leader smiled serenely. "Every inch."

"What? Even the Gargoyles?"

"Of course."

"But you _know_ how much they complain..."

The older wizard looked down. "Every inch. I intend to make this a... unique experience to say the very least."

"And don't forget to do something about that chair of hers!"

The leader regarded the only wandless person in the trio. "And you are aware that _she_ will most likely kill you, if you even consider such a thing, do you not?"

There was a flash of a grin that had the potential to be utterly wicked. "Well, if I knew how to work this thing," A slender stick was raised and waggled dramatically from side to side. "I would leave her a surprise myself, but knowing my luck..."

"You would most likely blow us all to Kingdom come," the smallest of the trio said, jumping up and snatching the wand from the young man's hand. "How on earth did you manage to run off with this?"

"Run off?" He looked grievously offended at the words. "Look, mate, you make me sound disreputable. I borrowed it fair and square, depending on my good looks, charm and manners to win me through."

"You stole it."

"Well, yeah, that too." There was a huff. "I'm evil. Everyone keeps forgetting."

"And why, pray tell, did you want it?" the smallest one squeaked.

"Thought I might be able to pull off some kind of... y'know... hocus pocus like you two and give the old bat... er... I mean, all the kiddies a bit of a treat in the morning, but it didn't work." He glared at the wand. "Its a bloody dud, that's what it is."

"In case you had forgotten," the eldest of the trio added, trying desperately to hide a smile. "You were also a Muggle..." He raised a hand, silencing the younger's protests. "Whether or not you are in possession of a rather fine and feral demon."

There was a moment of silence, then the wand was snatched back, the younger man scowling grumpily.

"You and your sodding logic!" He made a grand gesture around the hall. "So, get on with it then! Both of you and your oh-so-not-Muggle magic that I can't do because I'm not supernatural enough... bloody ridiculous, this... hundred and twenty-eight bloody years being bloody undead and I'm not bloody supernatural bloody enough..." There was a pause and, as an afterthought, he added, "Bloody!"

"Language, William."

"What a-bloody-bout it?" The older wizard regarded him intently. "Evil. Look it up, mate. I'm not about to apologise." Blue eyes remained fixed on him and the vampire's eyes started watering. "No! I don't apologise! I'm the big bad!" Blue eyes didn't blink once. "All right, all right! I won't swear! Right?" The wizard looked away and the vampire muttered, "Sodding free country, my arse..."

"Big bad, eh?" the smallest of the three said, as he returned to charming the High Table. "Now I may be somewhat sceptical, but you've stolen that wand so often, that I really do believe that you're trying to compensate for something."

"Oy! Shortarse! I heard that!"

The tiny figure turned back with a beaming smile. "And yet," he said. "I hear no denial from you."

The vampire stuck out his tongue and shook the wand uselessly with a sullen mutter of, "I hate tiny gits with logic." He turned just in time to receive a carefully aimed mouthful of soapsuds from the Head Master. "Oh bwuwy heww."

"Language, William," the wizard repeated amiably, smiling as he turned his attention back to the chairs behind the High Table.

Behind him, the vampire just glowered and grumbled around the bubbles. "And you're meant to be the good wizard... yeah right..."

* * *

Standing in the middle of the clearing, Faith tilted her head skywards, closing her eyes as the night breeze whispered over her skin, carrying the scent of the trees that surrounded them and the distant, clear flavour of the lake in the air.

It was so quiet.

She couldn't help noticing it.

Even at night in the castle, there was always some kind of noise, whether it was a painting chatting with its neighbour, someone running through the corridor or even the harmonious snores of the Summers sisters.

Here, there were only the sounds of nature at rest.

Well... almost.

Beyond her, she could hear the sound of hoofed and clawed feet thumping on the ground and the cracking of dry twigs as Buckbeak bounded between the trees, most likely chasing whatever unfortunate creature was squeaking there.

Softer, though, were the muted chuckles of Sirius as he watched his pet at play.

Turning, she looked around at Sirius, who had just apparently induced some kind of odd game of tag with the Hippogriff, ducking behind a tree as Buckbeak scrambled down the small grassy verge, bright eyes seeking out the dark-haired human.

As Buckbeak drew nearer, Sirius eased around the tree, reaching out to swat at the Hippogriff's flowing tail. Buckbeak rounded in a blur, only to find his 'assailant' gone, a screeching sound ringing in the air as he cantered back around the tree even as Sirius darted over to another tree.

Setting herself down on a fallen tree trunk, the Slayer laughed aloud as the huge beast started chasing after the black dog that had just sped out from behind a looming oak, both animals tumbling in a heap.

A split-second later, Sirius was wriggling out from beneath Buckbek's paws, laughing and shaking his hair out of his face, Buckbeak rubbed his vast head against the man's side, uttering a strange, soughing, purring sound.

Straightening up, Sirius reached up and smoothed his hand over Buckbeak's head, the affection apparent in his eyes, his other hand running down the Hippogriff's feathered throat.

"You really are a silly sod, you," he murmured, almost stumbling over backwards when Buckbeak bowed his imperious head and nudged him fondly in the belly. "Oy! Be careful, would you?"

Another rattling purr sounded from Buckbeak's throat before his broad, sharp beak nudged against Sirius' cheek, a beak that could have torn the man's head off, had Buckbeak wanted to.

"If you two wanna be alone," Faith offered, grinning at Sirius as she stretched out her legs to let her toes skim the long grass. "Just point me in the right direction and I'll be going."

Giving Buckbeak's head a shove, Sirius grinned over at her apologetically, easing around the Hippogriff to wander over and sit on the ground by the tree trunk which she presently occupied, his back pressing against the damp bark, one hand rising without thought to trace rough fingertips down the side of her calf.

"Sorry," he said, tilting his head back to look up at her, his eyes crinkling with a smile. "I sometimes forget that being sociable actually means talking to the person I asked out instead of arsing around with my daft pet."

Reaching down to disentangle some twigs from his unruly hair, Faith gave him a look. "You were all for lettin' him hump you," she said teasingly. "You didn't say nothin' about this bein' a threeway when you came a-knockin' on my window."

Blue eyes blinked at her several times from a horror-stricken face.

Faith smirked. "Still got the gift of the imagery, huh?"

"Exquisitely so," Sirius replied weakly. He shifted his head a little as she continued to comb pieces of moss and dirt out of his hair, leaning his head into her touch like a dog demanding a petting.

In front of them, Buckbeak stamped around in a circle, as if looking for some new entertainment then - clearly annoyed by the lack of attention - uttered a shriek and rose into the air, carrying himself away over the trees.

"There goes our lift," Faith remarked. "My mom'll be pissed if I'm home late."

"Your... mother?" The sudden look of panic that crossed Sirius' face was endearing. "If... if this is going to be a problem, I could always call him back, if..."

Faith swatted the top of his head. "I was talkin' about B, dumbass," she replied with a chuckle. "No need to look so damn scared. She ain't about to come over here to spank your ass for shamin' her little girl." Her eyes glinted. "It's B you wanna watch out for. B looks out for me. Needs someone as good as she is to watch her back."

"Modest too, I see."

"Takes one to know one, I guess," Faith said, smiling.

"That Buffy... she is a nice girl, isn't she?"

"Mmm."

"She's... ah..."

"Cute? Sweet? Smart?" Faith offered resignedly.

"Um..." Swivelling to kneel up in front of her, resting his arms on her thighs, he cocked his dark head in a canine fashion. "I was more thinking 'strong enough to rip my arms off and use them as Quidditch clubs so I will try to avoid annoying her any time soon' actually." He gave her a lop-sided grin. "You see, I have this ridiculous self-preservation tendency."

Faith's smile was faint. "Yeah..."

"Note to self," Sirius added, wagging a severe finger at himself. "Be a very good boyfriend. Never underestimate the importance of chocolates and silly little random presents that cost an arm and a leg, though not literally because that would be rather... er... what is it?" He knelt up, tentatively touching Faith's cheek. "If you don't like chocolate, I'm sure I could find something else."

"It's not that, dumbass," Faith's voice was trembling as much as the hand on his shoulder was.

"Er... was it the expensive presents, then? I can work with cheap, if that would suit you better..."

"No," Faith swatted him, though it was a feeble gesture. "You said 'boyfriend'."

Sirius looked genuinely confused. "Is that bad?" One look at Faith's face seemed to tell him the answer to that and he pulled his hand back, as if he had been burnt. "Or too quick?"

Faith shook her head, reaching up to grasp the hand that had just pulled away from her face. "First time," she said, a hesitant smile flitting onto her lips. "At least, first time for real."

Sirius stared at her. "You have to be joking."

"What can I say?" Faith offered weakly. "I've never been one for sticking around to see how things'll go."

"You're.. um... sticking around now."

Faith laughed quietly. "Yeah. You scared my lift away."

"So, if I keep on scaring your lift away..."

The Slayer regarded him, then smiled, almost shyly. "Then I guess I'll have to keep on sticking around, won't I?"

By the light of the waxing moon, Sirius' eyes shone and he smiled.

* * *

It was disconcerting how a completely habitual matter could become so frightening.

Valentine's Morning found Narcissa Malfoy waking to the sight of her husband seated upon the lip of the bed, as he did was each Valentine's day, a single black rose held between forefinger and thumb, his gaze intent upon the petals.

This was their routine.

It had been so from the earliest days of their marriage, when she had still believed she loved her husband and he had been just as convincing in his manner when he indulged her in that little fantasy.

However, with Glorificus in the house and their son in an asylum, everything had changed and Narcissa could do nothing but stare at him, disconcerted by the return to normal behaviour.

Lucius did not look at her. His expression was unreadable and, without a word, he raised his other hand and slowly - and with great deliberation - started to pluck each petal from the rose, letting them flutter to the floor.

Sitting up slowly, the sheets sinking to puddle around her hips, Narcissa reached out to touch him, trying to conceal the wariness she was feeling and cursing any paranoid precognition she might be assailed with.

Still, his fingers plucked.

Petals dropped like soundless shadows from his pale fingertips.

"Did you think it would go unnoticed?" he asked after an eternity of silence, as she last petal came away in his fingers, smoothed flat then just as suddenly crushed by his curled fingers.

Narcissa blanched. "What?"

Grey eyes turned to her. "Have you any idea how powerful an enemy you have made when you went against her?" he whispered, his voice low and - Narcissa was startled to realise - shaking. "I have managed to keep you unharmed this far, but you... you seem to thrill in placing your head in the noose."

"I-I don't know what you're talking about."

Lucius loomed closer to her. "You were seen," he hissed, his eyes flaring with more than simply anger. "You were witnessed in the study, rifling through the paperwork and she _knows_ about it."

What little colour was left in Narcissa's face bleached away. "I..."

Her husband shook his head, a tight, jerking motion. "How many times did I warn you to leave her be, to let her just get on with what she was doing?" he whispered, his face mere millimetres from hers. "I put us into this position for our benefit and if you had done as I asked, we might have gotten out alive."

"She hurt Draco," Narcissa's voice shook as she spoke. "He's nothing anymore!"

Lucius growled in frustration. "I know you loved the boy, but he was useless, Narcissa." he uttered softly, coldly. "Better him than us. He was given as much warning as you and, like you, he ignored it!"

"He is your _son_!"

"But clearly did not inherit any brains from either of us," Lucius retorted. "How many times did I tell you both to leave her be? How many times? And he did not listen! Did you think she was truly stupid an inept?" He shook his head, his hands rising to cup Narcissa's face, his expression serious. "She's dangerous. Very, very dangerous. I did not want either of you harmed when I ventured into arrangements with her, but you placed yourself in her way and only I stand between you and the same condition our fool of a son is now in."

Narcissa stared at him. There was nothing that could be said. There was nothing that could be done. "She knows?"

"Everything you have done in recent days." Lucius said flatly, still clasping her face between his hands and shaking his head. "That you have been sending aid to the school, that you've been hiding information from us."

"I thought she would kill me," Narcissa whispered weakly.

"If she did not need me so," Lucius replied. "She likely would have, but - at present - she still requires my aid."

"At present..."

"Yes. As long as I am useful." Lucius' smile was thin. "And, unfortunately, you have placed yourself well and truly into her bad books." he glanced towards the closed door, then looked back at his wife. "I'm afraid, as proof that she will not be betrayed again, I shall have to confine you to your quarters."

His wife stared at him. "You cannot be serious."

"I'm afraid its that or death," Lucius replied, his fingers sliding lightly, gently, down her cheek. "And since I really am rather partial to your company, I would rather hate to see you dead or witless. House Elves will provide you with food and you ought to be safe here."

Then, he was gone and the door was closing behind him, leaving Narcissa seated in the middle of the bed, alone and trembling, a single, long-stemmed petal-less rose lying on the pale silk of the sheets.


	59. Gods And Monsters

GODS AND MONSTERS

* * *

Notes: Again, I have to apologise for the delay in updates, but there have been some personal problems of late that literally smashed my muses into tiny bits and its taken me this long to get everything back on track. Add to that the fact that I'm job-hunting left, right and centre and am still time restrictions on the computer. All in all, things aren't entirely... easy at present. Still, here we go. Fic :)

* * *

"I think I'm gonna be sick."

"Seconded."

"Is it... I mean, I am seeing right...?"

"If ye're seeing pink, then Ah am too and we've not just gone crazy."

"And the little fat ugly angel-y things flying around?"

"Nope. They're there too."

"Holy..."

"Do ye think anyone would notice if we ran away?"

"Do you care if anyone noticed? I mean, yeah, it's the chicken's way out, but God! Don't they know the meaning of overkill?"

Standing in the doorway of the Great Hall, Duncan and Dawn were staring in horror at the room. It was like a car wreck. A big car wreck. A car wreck that included a dozen carnival floats, several delivery vans from flower shops and a decorating tanker full of pink paint.

While their stomachs were demanding breakfasts, their eyes demanded that they be bleached and rinsed repeatedly in order to scourge the image of small, fat cupids clad in nothing more than ribbons fluttering around from their retinas.

It seemed safe to say that they weren't the only ones trying to make sense of the traumatic sight that lay before them, judging by the mass of students assembled on the stairs and in the hall that lead to the Great Hall.

It was a brave - or more likely exceptionally hungry - sixth year boy from Hufflepuff that took the first faltering step across the threshold, the assembled student body holding their breath.

The Cupids swarmed together, homing in on him and diving like a legion of winged monkeys, warbling what - at a later date was decided by general consensus - was meant to be poetry.

The Hufflepuff's nerve shattered and he made a desperate break for the door, but it was too late; the Cupids caught him, shrilling lamentable poetry at him, drowning out his yell for help.

Long, silky ribbons tangled around him, making escape impossible and chubby fists tossed handfuls of petals on him, covering him in what looked like a coating of over-sized flakes of pink dandruff.

Finally, he appeared to give up, resembling a pink mummy and sagging under the weight of flowers and silk.

The Cupids sang - badly - in triumph and the boy was carried to his table, deposited on one of the long benches, then the winged Cupids hovered back over towards the doorway, beaming with terrifying innocence down on the rest of the students.

"So not wanting to go in there..." Dawn mumbled, eyes round as saucers.

"Well..." Duncan said, shifting back a few paces, so Dawn was at the front of the crowd. "Maybe they only do that to the first person who goes in..." His hand nudged gently at the base of her back. "Why don't you check?"

"Nuh-uh!"

A small first year peeped around the doorframe. "Do you think they'll do that to the teachers as well?" she asked cautiously.

"Professor Snape would kill them," a Slytherin pupil said sagely.

"D'you think we could get Dumbledore to call 'em off?"

"Who do you think set them up in the first place?" One of the Gryffindor sixth years was suspiciously watching the Cupids. The pudgy cherubs were circling like vultures and gave the impression they were about to swoop at any moment.

Any speculation, though, was silenced as the door at the opposite end of the Great Hall opened with just enough dramatic creaking, then there was a shriek of absolute delight from the person standing there; "Albus!"

Above the main door, the Cupids exchanged looks, then scattered about the room, collecting their baskets of petals and reams of ribbon, no longer quite as terrifying as they had been as the cute, fleshy and pink swarm.

Dumbledore entered the room with Anya by his side, the former demon clinging to his arm giddily, staring around at the extreme... pinkness of the hall. She was smiling and someone at the back of the group at the door muttered an inquiry about whether the woman was hallucinating something nicer than what they were seeing.

"This is the best Valentine's Day I have ever had!" she was exclaiming happily. "I thought you were going to be all Ebeneezery on me, but you've done this!" A kiss was placed on Dumbledore's cheek, which suddenly changed colour to match the decor of the Great Hall. "You even have the ugly, flying, naked babies!"

At the threshold, Dawn slowly nodded. "Ah." The gruesome decoration suddenly made sense. She gave Duncan a helpless look. "I think we're stuck with this all day, if Anya has anything to do with it. I guess we should deal, huh?"

"We... have to go in there?"

Dawn shuddered. "Yeah. Unless you just... y'know... don't wanna eat today."

Duncan stared fearfully at the Valentine's Day decorations. His stomach growled wetly and he gave it a poke, as if it had betrayed him. "It won't be that bad," he muttered, though he didn't sound convinced. "And they fat angel things look like they'll leave us alone..." He looked at his friend. "If you go in, I'll go in."

Reaching out, Dawn grabbed his wrist with one hand. "If we're going in there," she said, lifting her chin. "We're both going in together. I'm not being all mummified and flowery on my own."

"Yay?" Duncan uttered weakly. "On three..."

"One... two..."

Both of their feet crossed the threshold and they froze. Several Cupids lazily circled them, eyeing them speculatively, but settled for just scattering a handful of petals over both of them, before droning off towards the High Table, where nauseated-looking members of staff were taking their seats.

The only people who looked remotely comfortable were Dumbledore, who was beaming like a child who had been given his favourite toy, and Anya, who was - for once - seated beside the Head Master at the High Table, exclaiming gleefully over the heart-shaped pieces of toast and flowers and everything else.

"I shoulda guessed Anya wanted this," Dawn muttered to Duncan as they slipped into their seats as quietly as possible. "She's not had proper festivals before and she kinda likes the tacky."

"Really?" Duncan dead-panned. "Ah couldnae tell."

Dawn stuck her tongue out at him, then waved at Cordelia and Xander who had just entered. "Hey!"

Xander was looking around the Hall, clinging to Cordelia's arm as one terrified. His face was twisted in a combination of pained amusement and blatant horror. "Anya?" he mouthed at Dawn, who nodded.

"Please tell me you didn't do anything like this for her," Cordelia muttered. "You would have to be crazy."

"Even if I wanted to," Xander countered, as they approached the table where Willow was already sitting, trying to brush pink rose petals off her buttery toast. "I couldn't afford to get this tacky. Hey, Will."

"Oh, hey..." The witch picked up a spoon and started scooping petals out of her coffee as well.

"How long are we gonna be stuck with this?" Faith asked as she neared and dropped into a seat on Willow's other side, then leapt up with a yell, picking a bunch of crushed red roses off the chair and glaring at them. "And who the hell left thorny flowers on my seat? I'm gonna be pickin' prickles out my ass all day!"

"Um..." Xander's hand rose.

Faith grinned wryly. "Uh... Cordy, I guess these are yours," she said, handing the squashed bouquet across to the Seer. "Uh... sorry."

"Hey, it's better than a metal through the guts," Cordelia said, nudging Xander in the ribs, drawing a wan smile from him. She accepted the roses and picked through the bunch for the least-squashed one. Tugging the thorns off, she looked over at Willow. "You able to get me a pin for this thing?"

Without even looking away from the High table and her girlfriend, Willow made a gesture with her wand, an elaborate silvery pin appearing on the tabletop.

"Nice..." Xander murmured appreciatively, picking it up and affixing the rose to Cordelia's sweater with it. He raised his eyes to her. "Sorry I didn't get anything better, sweetie."

"Smooshed roses and a pretty pin aren't all bad," she conceded, kissing him fondly and receiving a nervous look for the gesture. "All right, a real expensive meal and new wardrobe would be great, but I love the rose anyway, okay?"

"That's the Cordy I know and love," Xander exhaled a relieved breath. "Don't go all nice on me. It's confusing."

"Aww, poor Xander," Willow lamented teasingly.

"Hey, don't you start on me, Wills!" Xander protested. "I'm still adjusting to you actually having a girlfriend who is actually a girl. Cordy going nice and sweet on me is just a little bit more mind-boggling." He squinted. "I don't adjust easily."

"What if I told you that B and the grumpy wannabe-evil guy are knockin' boots?"

"Uh..." Shades of green slowly ebbed up Xander's face, his eyes wide. "Please tell me you're joking... please?"

Faith let the question hang as she took her time finishing a slice of toast, then started snickering. "You should see the look on your face, Xan," she smirked slyly, pointing at him with a second piece of toast. "Never seen anyone look so sick before."

"And you say I'm sick..." Xander mumbled, shuddering.

The dark-haired Slayer grinned and nodded to the High Table, where Buffy was talking animatedly to Giles. "Can you see B ever gettin' on enough with old Cranky Ass to jump his bones?"

"Faith!" Xander clapped his hands over his ears. On the opposite side of the table, the Slayer just grinned and tucked into a fresh roll.

"What's got you so good-moody?" Willow asked curiously.

"Me?"

"Yeah," Cordelia added, cocking her head. Faith seemed to be struggling to hide a grin. "You only get to Xander if you're way good moody. Someone been playing find the bone with a certain big, black dog?"

"Cordy!" Xander wailed, having just lowered his hands from his ears at exactly the wrong moment.

Faith intently examined the bubbly texture of the inside of her roll, though there was no mistaking the dimple that appeared on one cheek. "Don't know what you're talkin' about, C."

"Sure," Cordelia retorted. "Spill it."

Faith poked her well and truly butchered roll around on the plate in front of her with the butter knife, then grinned bashfully. "I guess everyone has to be someone's bitch, huh?" she murmured.

"And for once," Cordelia said, grinning. "That is the word that really fits."

"This conversation is wrong," Xander whimpered. "On so many levels..."

"Speaking of wrong," Willow was looking at something at the High Table which wasn't female, bushy-haired or witch-shaped. "Uh... are my eyes going weird or is Snape wearing colours?"

As one, the group turned to look, as - it appeared - did most of the student body.

Edging into his seat, doing his utmost to go unnoticed and failing abysmally, Severus Snape was wearing robes of a deep, dark shade of emerald, which had replaced the usual sombre black ensemble. Even the buttons were elaborate silver curls, rather than polished, black ones.

Anyone who would have dared to point and laugh at this change, however, was quickly silenced by the ominous glare that was practically vibrating out from the dark Professor, as he took his seat.

Of course, there was always one who wanted to have her say.

"Nice look, Snapey."

It looked like the Potions Master was on the verge of spitting nails.

"Do shut up, Summers." he gritted out between clenched teeth.

Buffy beamed at him, seeming oblivious to the death glare that was being directed at her. She was wearing a bright red headband with two pink, flashing hearts on springs stuck to it and they wobbled to and fro. "I guess you don't like the mushiness, huh?"

The slow, deliberate way his bony fingers curled around his butter knife would have sent any endangered species running for cover. "I am here to endure breakfast, Miss Summers," he said frostily. "Nothing more."

Buffy leaned towards the snickering Hermione and muttered in a stage whisper, "I bet he's actually enjoying the show. The bitchy, broody Kings of pain always like fluffy romance, y'know."

Black eyes glittered at her in caution. "Summers."

Raising her hands in submission, the Slayer smiled warmly. "I can take a hint, Snapey," she said cheerfully, though Snape's glare did not abate at all.

"Eventually, cupcake," Lorne agreed, patting her on the hand. Like the Slayer, he was wearing a pair of the ridiculous springy hearts, getting into the right mood, which apparently thrilled Anya, who was revelling in the sheer cheesiness factor.

As was McGonagall, but the fact she was virtually tied to her chair by pink ribbons and had flowers blooming from her hat, around the headband, suggested it was not a statement she had decided to make by choice.

A green-eyed glare scanned the student body, nearly as terrifying as the Potions Professor's, but directed at only one person who had done the wise thing and hidden, out of her reach.

Somewhere, at the back of the hall, a vampire could be heard, giggling.

* * *

"We've already tried the kidnap thing before and hey! Don't seem to have my key, do I?"

Lucius rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. "Only because we allowed Narcissa to intervene on that occasion," he said curtly. He was seated behind his desk, leaning against the high back of his chair. "If we had known then..."

"I wanna suck the bitch dry," Glory's voice was laced with malevolence, her pretty features twisted into something unnatural and ugly. "Stick my fingers in and wiggle and squirm and feel her breaking apart."

The wizard brought his hand down on the desk with a loud smack, his face drawn with contained fury, patches of colour visible on his pale cheeks. "We have discussed this before, Glory. She is _not_ to be harmed. I have seen my fool of a son destroyed, but she is still _my wife_, damn you."

The Goddess snorted. "You're soft," she said from the fireplace. She stuck a foot into the flames and stirred up the embers. "I thought you were such a bad guy, but now, you're getting all sappy on the woman who double-crossed you."

"I would have been surprised if she had passively stood by and done nothing while I had an affair and gave you leave to punish our son for his insubordination," Lucius replied evenly. "She has been my wife for twenty-four years and this is not simply because she is attractive and exceptionally intelligent."

"She's been helpin' them, Luce!"

Lucius smiled coldly, lacing his fingers together before him. "I know," he said. "And I am rather impressed that she managed to deceive us for so long. I never expected her to have cunning enough."

"We don't know how much she told 'em."

"Also very true, my dear," Lucius said calmly, though the colour didn't yet fade from his cheeks. "She's a Ravenclaw through and through, despite her occasional bouts of wiliness. She could have found information we missed, relevant matters that we might overlook. She's far brighter than I."

"Wouldn't be hard," Glory groused, smashing a smouldering log in half with a sharp stamp of her foot.

"Temper, temper," Lucius murmured. "You forget that, of my wife and I, I am the one known for excessive trickery. Narcissa prefers to lean towards the intellectual approach with far too much reading and research and simply not enough action. I tend to find what I require at a certain time and use it, as it comes into my hands."

Brushing her hand down her knee-length dress, which had caught a few flickering embers, several smouldering holes visible in the red fabric, Glory scrutinised him with a keenness only ever visible in her shortly after she had fed.

"You're not tellin' me somethin', sweetpea," she murmured warningly. "You know how much I don't like that."

Lucius' smile was as ice. "Let us say I have a little surprise on its way, my dear," he said, splaying his hands on the polished surface of his desk. "It may take a week or two to reach us, but when it does, I believe it will be entirely worth a small wait."

As quick as the flick of a switch, Glory was smiling, clapping her hands together like a child. "What is it?" she demanded eagerly, bounding over to the desk and hopping up onto it. "Is it for me? Will it get my key?"

Leaning forward, Lucius patted her knee lightly. "You recall we have never been able to breach the school since we had the Slayer's younger sister?" he said. She nodded pulling a face. "And do you recall why?"

"Because they're dumb witches and wizards," she grumbled bitterly. "And they do all the hocus pocus and stop me from getting in and getting what's mine."

Lucius nodded patiently. "And you do recall, that in this world, there are creatures of all varieties, be they demon, wizard-kind or simply Mudblooded beasts?" he said, examining the back of one hand intently.

"Well, duh." Glory snapped. "What's this gotta do with anything?"

"Do you honestly believe that every creature in this world is susceptible to magic?"

Glory stared down at him for a long moment, then started to smile. It wasn't a pleasant expression. "Hon, I think I kinda like it when you pick out presents for me," she said brightly.

* * *

"If we keep going like this, sweetcheeks, we're going to run out of classroom space in a week."

Dark brown eyes scanned over the eighth, daily, blood-red rose since Valentine's Day which had just been delivered by a nervous-looking Dobby, then Cordelia sniffed and looked away.

"He's trying to suck up to me," she said, though there was something in her expression which belied the frostiness of the words.

"C'mon, hon, you can't still be mad at him."

Cordelia glanced back from the window at the demon, who was playing with two large and expensive-looking crystal balls. "I'm not mad at him," she said with a suggestion of a smile. "I'm just taking advantage of a woman's right to be a PMS-y bitch for as long as possible."

"And does he know this?"

Cordelia slid down from the windowsill as the first students started filtering into the classroom, hands on her hips. As ever she looked far too glamorous to be a stand-in teacher alongside the sky-blue clad green demon.

"Duh, Lorne," she said, amused. "He's known me what? Five years? And he's been out with me before. The only person who knows me better would be Angel." She wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. "And maybe Wes."

"Women," Lorne announced loud enough for the newly-arrive students to hear. "Are not something I'm ever gonna understand, are they? I think I have them all worked out, then you do something like this."

The Seer lifted a shoulder, sitting down on the edge of the desk. "Would you really want to understand us, Lorne? I mean, _really_?" she asked, with a laugh. "If I didn't go all bitchy on him 'cause he only got me a rose, everyone would think something was wrong with me. I don't want people thinking I'm the big evil, do I?"

"You're not, are you?" An elegant brow arched. "Kidding!"

"Being the uberevil - so not my style," Cordelia replied with a dismissive wave of one hand. "I'm not a leather gal. The way things look, you have a choice; style or evil and, personally, I think I'm going to stick with style." She pulled a face. "Evil had no fashion sense."

Stashing one of the crystal balls in a small, velvet-lined chest, Lorne shook his head, trying not to smile. "We could start a fashion school of evil back in good, old L.A., honey," he said, raising red eyes to her. "Evil Style 101."

Giving him a measured look, Cordelia lofted that imperious brow again. "Lorne, if they were well-dressed, how would we tell who the bad guys were anymore?"

"You got a point," Lorne agreed. He cupped his chin in his hand, looking up at her, mischief in his eyes. "But look at your honey! Sweetie, for the love of Aretha, tell me what dimension of evil that wardrobe came from and how it can be beaten back!"

"Lorne!"

Around the filling classroom, a few of the pupils were trying not to laugh at the ongoing conversation. Needless to say, many of them were failing wonderfully, snorts and snickers muted all around the room.

"Hey, hon, you started this conversation down this dark and sinister path."

Cordelia's expression softened and she smiled. "That wardrobe may look evil," she said affectionately, "but it's totally Xander. He's always looked like a doofus." A thoughtful expression crossed her face. "Although he looks pretty good in a tux."

"Prom, right?"

"Oh yeah..." There was a wistfulness in her tone that hadn't been there before.

"And now, he's sending your flowers every day," Lorne remarked, reaching out to pick up the rose. His hand was smacked away by Cordelia. Several girls giggled behind their hands. "Ow! What was that for?"

"Okay, he's not one for big presents," she admitted, picking up the rose carefully by the stem. She sniffed it, then mock-glared at Lorne, "But they're still _my_ presents and you can keep your flower-lusting, grabby hands off them, right?"

"Not even one?" It was almost embarrassing, seeing a full-grown demon pouting.

"Nope!" Cordelia patted him fondly on the head. "Now, are we going to get to the teaching or are you going to sit and pout for the rest of the day?"

Lorne tapped his lower lip thoughtfully. "Tough call, hon."

Cordelia rolled her eyes in the direction of the students. "And people wonder why we say demons are evil," she muttered, though not quite under her breath. "They try and steal your presents and make you feel guilty about it after."

Folding his hands on the desk, Lorne raised his eyes to the ceiling and started innocently humming something that sounded suspiciously like 'The bitch is back'.

"So," Cordelia raised her voice to drown out the humming. "Evil, green, fancy-suit-wearing, flower-stealing demons aside, I guess we're gonna talk crystal balls today, since that's all Lorne's been playing with since I got here."

"Hon!" the demon exclaimed in wounded tones. "Not in public!"

Pressing her fingertips to her forehead, as the forty-two seventeen year olds started laughing, Cordelia groaned quietly. "Remind me," she said, turning her most impressive glare on the demon. "To kill you very dead later."

Lorne just blew a kiss at her.

* * *

"I don't think they're exactly pleased with us."

A tousled red head lifted from the puffy pillows on the bed, drowsy green eyes squinting against the pale morning light, which became that little bit stronger when the curtains were flung wide open.

"Light! Evil light!" Willow protested sleepily, pulling the blankets and sheets up over her head.

"Nonsense," Hermione said briskly, closing over the window and walking back to the bed. Her normally bushy hair was reaching decorative-shrub proportions. Sitting down, she placed a creased parchment on the bed. "It's a fine morning."

"Gnuh..."

"Willow, honestly," One hand caught the blankets and, with a quick tug, left and opening, which Hermione's cool hand dived into. Willow shrieked as her lover's chilly fingers pressed against her warm belly, squirming away. "Do you expect to just lie in there all day?"

"Hermione!" Pyjama-clad legs flailed wildly out from under the sheets, arms tangled further in the cosy nest of blankets, a red-haired head popping out, cheeks flushed and expression indignant. "I don't like you."

"Liar," Hermione said with a smile, kissing her fondly on the nose. "But pleasure later." She held out the letter. "At least we know that Percy and Amy didn't kill each other now."

"Uh... oh..."

"You could say that."

Sitting up properly, pushing her hair back from her face, Willow took the letter with all the enthusiasm that an arachnophobe would show to an extremely cute and cuddly tarantula. "How bad?"

Hermione pulled her legs up onto the bed under her, tucking her nightshirt over her feet and shrugging. "Not as bad as I expected," she admitted. "It could have been a howler, which would have been a bit embarrassing to explain."

"Yay us, then," Willow scanned the scribbled words. "Hey! Amy wrote this! And she's saying 'we' about her and Percy... 'we didn't want to be set up'... 'I thought he did it and he thought the same'... 'we felt kinda dumb'..." Her brow rumpled. "Oh."

She looked up from the page, surprised to find Hermione smiling. "Turn it over," she suggested.

"'P.S. Thank you!'..." Green eyes went round. "She liked it?"

"So it would appear," Hermione's fingers tangled through Willow's, her face lit by a warm smile. "I just expect that Percy has demanded the masculine rites to be grumpy and petulant about being forced on a date, even if it is with someone he has had a crush on for months."

"Boys are silly," Willow flopped back on the pillows. She tugged at Hermione's hand impatiently, nodding towards the cosy spot on the bed beside her, amid the tangled knot of dark blankets and pale sheets.

"There are indeed," Hermione feigned ignorance.

A pale pink lower lip quivered dramatically. "Girls are too." she said petulantly.

"Mmm," Hermione's mouth twitched, a smile creeping around the edges. Her fingers slowly started wandering along Willow's hand and wrist. "Is that how you intend to lure me into bed, Miss Weasley?"

"Is it working?" Willow asked optimistically.

Withdrawing hr hand to snag her watch from the bedside cabinet, Hermione scrutinised the face, then yawned hugely and replaced it on the cabinet. "Well, I _could_ do with a little more sleep and it _is_ a Saturday."

"Sleep?"

"Mmm," Hermione agreed teasingly, lifting the blankets and slipping back under them. "I should listen to you more often."

"Don't I get smoochies?"

"Oh, do I have to?" Hermione sighed. Willow pouted spectacularly at her. "Oh, very well..." An arm slid around Willow, a contented red head settling on Hermione's shoulder. "Honestly, the things I have to suffer!"

"You enjoy it."

"Yes," Hermione agreed, kissing Willow on the forehead. "But then, it is commonly known that I am a chronic masochist."

* * *

"So, if you can have those essays to me by class on Monday," the Slayer's voice rose over the ruckus of thirty children scrambling to pack their bags in record time and get back to their common rooms, away from schoolwork. "And don't listen to a word I say, then. I don't mind. Really."

Chuckling at the desk as the class disbanded, Giles didn't even look up at her when she turned on him.

"What's funny?"

"I'm just recalling how very like them you were when you attended High School," he said, his quill scritching across the parchment he was writing on. "And close your mouth, Buffy. You must recall that I saw you through three years of Sunnydale High and these children are nothing compared to you."

Her protest stifled, Buffy hopped up to sit on the desk, looking down at him. "But," she said, a pouty note in her voice. "I _did_ have a real good excuse. Saving the world meant I had to skip classes. And handing in papers late... and... uh... missing tests... and I should probably stop talking now, huh?"

"Perhaps," the former Watcher looked up at her with a smile. "And now, here you are, teaching and being ignored along with the rest of the faculty, though I believe you garner marginally more focus and attention than anyone else."

"Be-_cause _I'm the Slayer and could throw 'em out the class for real?" she hazarded, leaning sideways to look at the paper he was reading, which certainly wasn't anything of a classroomy type.

Giles smiled. "Well, that and you are very young and pretty by the standards of the teaching staff," he reminded her. "I hardly believe it likely that Professor McGonagall has as vast a fan following as you seem to have among the pupils."

"Giles! That's gross!"

"What is?" Giles asked, bewildered.

"Kids. Crushing on me!"

"Ah... I do see your point, there."

Buffy shuddered, then snatched the paper from his hand, tilting it into the fading vestiges of daylight that were slanting dustily through the tall windows. "More of those weird protection spells?" she asked.

"More documents on the destruction of Glory," Giles corrected, negotiating the piece of paper from her fingers. "The translation is taking some time, but it appears there is some mention of a..." His brow rumpled. "I-I think it is speaking of destroying the vessel, but I could be mistaken."

"The vessel?"

Rising from the desk, Giles rubbed his forehead with the back of one hand. "Yes," he nodded distractedly, reaching for one of his books. "Yes... the vessel will contain her essence, her life force if you will."

"And vessels are like vases, right?" Buffy's boots clicked on the stone floor as she slid off the desk. "Weird magic vases. You use 'em in spells and things; vessels of bloods and stuff." If anything, Giles' bewilderment increased and he turned to gape at her and Buffy stared at him defiantly. "That's what Willow's old books said."

"I-I see."

"And if it is just a vasey thing, no big!" she continued merrily. "You just get a rock or something and smash it."

"I think, perhaps, this may be a different kind of vessel," Giles interrupted gently, opening a hefty book and placing it down on the desk. He scanned the contents as he spoke. "It would have to be complex and full of magic. I doubt Glory would-would leave it unprotected."

"So... it would have magic in it?"

"Most likely," Giles agreed, closing the book and stacking another two on top of it, then picked the small mountain of literature up.

"Okay. So I was right about tha... hey!" Giles froze where he was trying to edge his way passed her, a desperate mask of innocence plastered on his face. "Where are you going? We've got a load of papers to finish marking!"

"I-I... er..." His glasses quivered, sliding down his nose. "Well, you see, we really rather need to find the solution to this Glory problem and I-I-I thought you might like to mark the essays for once, since you did set the questions."

"So you get to do all the Glory stuff and I gotta mark essays about..." A scroll was picked up, unrolled and the Slayer groaned. "Werewolves? God! Why can't Oz be around when you need him?"

"I'm sure you shall be fine," Giles said, before beating a hasty retreat to the door and disappearing from sight, as Buffy grumpily sat down in the taller of the two teachers' chairs, pulling the pile of scrolls towards her.

She was only interrupted as sunset crept over the castle, washing the whole room in shades of gold, by Dobby slipping into the classroom and providing a plate of food as she worked.

That was her last distraction until the hinges of the heavy door squeaked, loudly, lazily and deliberately and the Slayer didn't even need to look up to know who would be - doubtlessly - looming in the doorway.

"Actually doing some work for once, are you, Summers?"

"Not like you'd recognise it if you saw it, Mister I-Make-Soup-For-A-Living," she retorted, laying her quill down and leaning back in the seat, her spine cracking painfully as she did so. Still, it was said with a smile. "You miss your evening dose of bitchiness or something?"

Snape stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. "Do stop being so glib, Summers," he said, stalking the length of the classroom and placing his hands on the desk in front of her, glowering down at her.

"But it makes you all loomy," Buffy replied, grinning. "It's almost scary."

"Summers, I am here regarding a theft."

Buffy groaned. "Look, you're the one who said Dawnie could do the potions thing and if she doesn't get to buy the potiony... stuff, she has to get it from somewhere, so it..."

"Summers, do shut up. I was referring to my wardrobe."

Hazel eyes blinked innocently. "Someone stole that great big wardrobe? How'd they get it out the door?"

"Summers, you have long since failed to convince me of your virtue," Black eyes bored down at her. "I am not stupid. I cannot imagine anyone else would have the nerve or gall to enter my private chambers, remove all my clothing thence and replace it with _this_!"

He gestured emphatically towards the deep, deep green robes that were so dark they looked almost jet black. Silver and emerald threads tastefully wound around the collar and they were clasped shut by a narrow, silver chain, which appeared to loop around matching coiled silver serpents before his sternum.

"It's nice," Buffy offered, smiling guilelessly at him. "I like the buttons."

"Summers." He glared impressively at her.

"D'you like it?"

"Summers."

"I liked your ones that you let me have."

"Su..." Snape's voice trailed off and he looked momentarily shell-shocked. Of course, it took him only a moment to regain his stride, glaring at her. "What the devil are you talking about?"

"Oh, come on, Snapey!" Buffy laughed. "Giles slipped up and told Faith where I got 'em, which is kinda weird, since Giles is usually good at being secret man, but I guess Faith has a way of asking..."

"Giles told Faith? And you believe her?"

"Sure," Buffy smirked up at him. "She knew it would make you glare if you knew I knew." The smirk melted into a genuine smile. "I just wanted to kinda... y'know... give you something nice back." There was the briefest of hesitations, then the fashion-conscious Californian he despised popped back out brightly. "That and you wear _way_ too much black."

"Have you ever considered I might _like_ black?"

"Is this the same kind of like you used to have for not washing your hair before I got here?" she inquired, pointing a quill at him. "Its not like I forced you to wear those robes, y'know."

"You stole the rest of my clothing, you intolerable little wretch!"

"Yes," Buffy said. "But, I didn't make you wear the robes, did I? You coulda gone without them, but you wore them and now," Her smile dazzled him. "When you got your clothes back what? Two weeks ago? I can't help noticing you're still... _kinda_ wearing them from time to time."

"That's hardly relevant." He scowled at her again.

"Sure, Snapey," Buffy granted him a broad smile, her eyes twinkling. "You were just way too 'busy' glaring at students for staring at you to even stick to your 'I'm evil and loomy' black ensemble?"

His arms folded imperiously. "Precisely. It would have roused more questions."

"More than the shock of 'Omigod! Snapey owns different clothes!'?"

"Oh, do shut up, you little brat."

Buffy grinned. "Love you too, Snapey."

Severus blinked at her, his face slackening, eyes darkening. He looked genuinely shocked, as if she had punched him in the chest. It lasted less than a heartbeat, then he was glaring at her again. "I do not know why I even attempt to tolerate you, you irksome, infuriating, under-dressed... Colonial!"

The Slayer grinned at him. "You're as bad as Giles with the insults," she said. "And, speaking of, d'you wanna help mark some essays that he ran out on?" She rolled her eyes. "He says he's looking for a way to save the world. I think he just doesn't know what they're about."

Snape snorted. "You honestly believe I would voluntarily expend my valuable time on you and your aggravating company to correct the infantile scribblings of your moronic class?"

A quill was held up to him and Buffy said, "You're here now, aren't you?"

"Not the point." Snape growled, though he did pick up one of the scrolls that she was marking, then flashed a look at her. "And you call yourself a teacher?" He pulled up Giles' vacant chair, grabbing the quill irritably and correcting her marking. "Good God, woman, do you even know a thing about werewolves?"

Buffy pulled a face. "Hello? Best friend's boyfriend was one?"

"That doesn't answer the question." Snape's eyes glittered by the light of the candles on the desk and he reached over, dipping his quill into the ink. "I hardly consider 'they drool and are covered in hair' as an acceptable answer. How Dumbledore imagines this will adequately equip the children for adult life, I do not understand."

"But they do drool and they are covered with hair," Buffy retorted. "I think that's pretty good for a kid to know."

"As we suddenly find that Pavlov's unfortunate dog has been shot with silver bullets by over-zealous students, convinced it is a werewolf when all it was seeking was a meal," Severus shook his head, his lips thinning into a line.

"They shot some guy's dog?"

At the horror in the Slayer's voice, Severus smirked. "Do you truly know nothing, Summers?" he drawled, turning his head to look at her.

"I know I can kick your ass, Mister I-think-I'm-a-bad-ass," Buffy countered.

"And I'm sure it will be of great satisfaction to both of us," Severus sniffed dryly, collecting another scroll and unrolling it. "Now, would you mind actually doing some work as, I recall, these are your essays."

"Jerk."

"Hussy."

* * *

"I'll have you know that we really are terribly annoyed with you."

"Yeah!"

"We didn't ask you to interfere!"

"What he said!"

"It-it-it was very presumptious and-and-and…"

"Annoying?"

"Yes! Annoying of you to do such a thing!"

Seated on the opposite side of the table in The Three Broomsticks, trying desperately not to smile, Willow and Hermione looked thoroughly unashamed of their behaviour, while Percy grew ever more flustered.

After the evening meal, just as the sun had started to set, both witches had pulled on warm cloaks and made their way down to Hogsmeade on the request of both Percy and Amy, who 'want a word with you'.

An owl had arrived from them that morning, exclaiming indignantly that they both felt their affairs had been meddled. At least, this was according to Percy, who said he was speaking for them both and would have done earlier, had not work delayed him considerably.

It took all Willow's restraint not to write back and remind him that his work, as he called it, was actually still the supposed rehabilitation of a certain witch by the name of Amy Madison. It would have made it all too easy.

All Percy's bluster came to nothing, really. Amy's initial owl a few days after the 'friendly meal', suggested that he thought otherwise, but, of course, Percy had a reputation to maintain.

The quartet had acquired the table closest to the fireplace in the middle of the pub, discarding cloaks as the warmth seeped through to their chilly bones and they quickly acquired large mugs of warming butterbeer from Madam Rosmerta, the early spring nights still cold.

"Is that everything?" Hermione said sweetly, when Percy stopped for breath, his cheeks blotchy with colour. "We're bad and terrible influences and are attempting to give Fred and George a run for their money on the trouble front?"

"Um… it seems to be."

Willow grinned impishly at him. "But, Mister Righteous-indignation, we can't help notice you two are making with the snuggly-wugglies anyway," she said. Both he and Amy blushed deeply. "Hey! You even match when you blush!" She gave Hermione a wistful look. "That is so cute!"

"You didn't need to do anything!" Amy protested, though she too was having difficulty masking a smile, her hand snugly nestled in Percy's. After all, she had to show loyal nine-day-girlfriend solidarity, even if she wanted to hug the two witches and squeal thank yous very loudly.

"Yuh-huh!" Willow countered. "If we didn't do anything, you'd'a been waiting for Ron to ignore you the rest of your life and hey! Percy's a sweetie, even if he is a bit rules-are-my-best-friend boy."

"Thank you very much," Percy said grumpily.

Amy leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "I like it," she said. If was possible, hues of puce, scarlet and violet edged into the ruby bloom that was poor Percy's face.

Willow clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle the "Awwww!"

"Willow Weasley," Hermione said, laughing. "You really are the softest, sappiest most hopelessly romantic ninny that I have ever encountered."

Willow pouted. "But look at them," she mumbled, waving in the direction of her brother and his girlfriend. "They're so cute and blushy and Percy is getting nice, happy smoochies of a not-evil kind…"

'Blushy' did not quite entirely encompass the term needed to describe the sunset that Percy's face now eclipsed.

"You know, Willow," Hermione said, studying him with earnest consideration, her brown eyes gleaming with amusement. It only made Percy shift and darken in colour even more. "I have this odd feeling that we might be embarrassing your brother."

"And people think you're nice," Willow giggled, swatting Hermione's arm. "You are way too mean."

"But I'm good at pretending otherwise," Hermione sniffed disdainfully, then turned a smile on Amy. "So, Amy, you're involved with a Weasley now. How does it feel to be joining the ranks of the insane?"

"Hermione!"

The witch smiled innocently over the rim of her mug, ignoring Willow's squeal of indignation. "I mean, I've been connected with two and I must admit it takes a certain level of lunacy to get involved…"

"Why do you… er…"

"Love her?" Willow finished Percy's question, mock-glaring at her lover. "I don't know. I think its cos she always brings me ice cream and you gotta love someone who brings you ice cream."

"Don't forget the big bathroom," Hermione put in helpfully, flicking Willow's auto-blush mechanism.

"Evil," Willow moaned quietly, ducking her head and letting her hair fall over her face. "Evil, evil, evil."

"What's evil about the big bathroom?" Amy asked, looking puzzled when Willow whimpered, hiding her face in Hermione's shoulder. The older witch examined the ceiling, smiling slightly.

"My girlfriend," the muffled reply came from Hermione's sleeve, as the innocent smile turned decidedly less innocent. "Is an evil, evil, mean and evil person. Don't let anyone else convince you that she isn't."

"And yet, you are still involved with her," Percy observed, receiving a glare from his little sister.

"I'm a Weasley," she mumbled. "We're dumb when it comes to picking not-good snuggle-buddies and staying with them. Look at Ginny - she got super hero guy. Bill got the freaky-deaky I-can-keel-you-wis-my-good-looks French girl. Fred and George's girlfriends are crazy. And Ron..." She pulled a face. "He was dumb enough to fall for this wicked witch."

"Yes," Hermione said, her expression earnest. "Two down. Six to go."

Willow turned accusingly on Hermione. "You wanna mentally scar me, missy?"

Hermione smiled warmly. "Every day," she said, before kissing Willow.

Across the table, there was a whisper; "Do we have to be that crazy?"

"Not unless you want to."

Hermione smirked, meeting Willow's eyes. "Give them time," she suggested.

Willow grinned. "Big ol' duh there."

* * *

"Not good!"

The yell preceded the crash of Xander tumbling out of the fireplace directly into the large study room, knocking over a small table and sending papers cascading all over the floor. He was closely followed by Cordelia who landed on top of him, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Of course, the seriousness of the moment was shattered when at least a dozen large shopping bags and boxes tipped out of the fireplace, on top of the sprawling pair on the hearth rug.

After nearly two weeks of flowers and chocolates, Xander had sprung a surprise shopping trip down to London on his girlfriend, with a little help from Anya - who had refused to take no for an answer - and Dumbledore - who had quite agreed that Anya made a very good point and could they possibly look into a little red dress that said ex-demon had been looking at last time she and Dumbledore were there?

Whisking her off to Diagon Alley via the Floo network and booked into a rather classy hotel establishment, they had been gone for three days and weren't expected back for another two. It had taken weeks of planning. Everything had been arranged perfectly. Nothing could have gone wrong.

Except, of course, the need to help save the world always put a bit of a nix on any serious romance.

The few people who were close at hand, of the standard Sunnydale and Hogwarts research party, looked as startled as each other, McGonagall getting to her feet. "Miss Chase! Mister Harris! What brings you back so soon?"

Cordelia looked up, blood trickling from her nose. Dark hair hung about her face in tangled curtains, giving her a strangely feral look.

"No headache, but vision and nosebleed," she said quickly, staggering upright. She sought out Buffy, but not seeing her nodded to Xander, who took off running. "Big skanky evil in little town." She said tersely, gratefully accepting Giles' handkerchief. "Not far. Willow and Hermione are there…"

"Hogsmeade," Giles said in shock. "Minerva?"

"I'll be with you, not defending for you this time, Mister Giles. Understand?"

The determined smile said it all as the remaining members of the group scattered out of the door to gather weapons and supplies. Cordelia sagged down into a chair, dabbing at her nose.

"Always the bleeder, never the bleedee," she grumbled to herself. "And it had to be when I was shopping. Thank you PTB."

Meanwhile, Xander was running as fast as he could through the halls, pushing passed students and taking stairs three at a time, both up and down, somehow, to reach Buffy's classroom. He fell through the door, panting, face a deep shade of red.

To his breathless confusion, he saw Buffy had Snape sitting beside her, scowling at her darkly, and clearly, they had been arguing about something, but were both staring at Xander.

"What…?" Buffy began to ask.

"Cordy," Xander panted, leaning against the doorframe, one hand pressing to his heaving chest. "Vision. Hogsmeade. Glory. Willow and Hermione…"

Before he had even finished speaking, the clatter of heels told him Buffy was on the move. She snatched a sword and an axe, striding towards the door, her expression grim and set.

"Summers, don't you see this is a trap?" Snape's voice cracked through the tense air like a whip.

"Yeah," Buffy said, looking back over her shoulder at him, tucking the axe into her belt. "But I'm not about to let my friends get killed." She hurried towards the door, only pausing to say, "You two find Faith and Gunn and get to Dawnie. Make sure you keep her safe, okay?"

"Of course," Snape said, swiftly slipping out from behind the desk.

Xander nodded at once. "Go, Buffy," he said.

With a grateful smile, Buffy started to run, students parting before her like the sea before a particularly good prophet, her boots clattering on the stone as she ran, her hair whipping around her face and her midnight blue robes flaring behind her.

She couldn't help but smile as she broke out into the grounds, dispersing pupils stopping and staring as she picked up speed across the silver-washed lawn, the moon rising like a gleaming coin in the cloud-threaded sky.

This was what she missed, when she was teaching. Not the impending death and blood and everything, but the chase and the fight. And, she mused as she ran, if you're gonna be a super-hero, you gotta do it in style and nothing says style like a sword, a flaring cloak and wind-tossed hair.

"Professor Summers!" a male voice called from somewhere above her.

"Running here!" Buffy yelled back, not even breaking stride. "You wanna tell me something?"

"Raise your hands and don't struggle!" the voice shouted back, the owner now recognizable as Sirius from the rough growl in the intonation, though his words were getting cut off by the wind rushing past her face.

"Right!" Slowing marginally, Buffy stuck both hands up, uttering a yelp of surprise when two hands wrapped around her wrists and easily hoisted her off the ground. A quick tug brought her up and flung her practically into Sirius' lap.

One arm went around her waist to steady her. Sirius dug his heels into Buckbeak's sides, the Hippogriff rising sharply, wings beating the air. "We thought this might be slightly quicker than walking," he offered, giving the Slayer a quick tug to help her sit upright in front of him.

Clutching at him, the shrill, icy wind getting colder as they rose higher, she dared to glance down at the patchwork landscape that was getting further and further away, her stomach leaping horribly. "High!" she squeaked.

"You tend to find the sky is," Sirius laughed, then nodded sideways to what should have been open air. "Brought backup along as well."

Flanking them on either side, Giles and McGonagall were both mounted on broomsticks, Wesley holding on behind Giles and Spike clinging to Professor McGonagall for dear life.

Despite her shock at suddenly being hoisted dozens of feet into the air, Buffy couldn't help staring at Giles in astonishment. "You're on a broomstick, Giles!" she exclaimed. "You! On a broomstick!"

Giles grinned at her. "I _am_ a wizard, you know," he replied, then jerked his head downwards. "Hogsmeade, directly ahead." Sirius and McGonagall both nodded and all three plunged into a steep dive, leaving their passengers desperately clutching at them in hopes they might be able to stay on.

* * *

Crouched behind a fallen oak table, Hermione on one side and her brother on the other, Willow's hands were shaking with rage and terror. "All I wanted was a nice, normal evening with my girlfriend," she moaned.

Hermione laughed tightly. "Oh, do come on, Willow," she said, leaning sideway to peep out around the edge of the table, ducking back as a spell crackled through the air, narrowly missing her head. "What fun would that be?"

When half a dozen large and spiky demons had invaded the Three Broomsticks, most of the clientele had done the wise thing and fled for safety, Madam Rosmerta screaming obscenities at the invaders as two of her burly employees had hoisted her off the ground and run towards the back door with her.

Unfortunately for the quartet who had been right in the middle of the quiet pub, by the time they rose, all exits were blocked by the nasty-looking demons. Percy had pushed over the table and they had all dived for cover, wands pulled out, outrage overriding the initial fear.

"Do either of you know any group shield spells?" Amy whispered urgently, yelping and pressing in closer to the trio as a sharp corner of the table was sheared off above her head, smoking.

Above them, one of the flickering lanterns dropped, shattering on the floor. A tongue of flame caught the edge of a tablecloth, which burst into a flare of light a heartbeat before Hermione launched a spell at it, a hiss and steam rising.

Willow swung her wand over her head and blasted a banishing charm over the top of the table, the crackle of flame-coloured light making a fleshy sound as it apparently struck. There was a yowl of pain and the sound of glass breaking.

"How many points was it for the window?" she asked, as Hermione popped up and struck with another stunning spell.

"I don't know, but I just got one through the pine door, which has to be worth more, simply for the solid factor," the brown-haired witch said smugly. She glanced at Amy and asked, "What was that you were saying about group shielding spells?"

Amy grabbed a piece of the fireplace that had been blown to pieces, hurling the piece of rock over the table and whooping as it smashed into an unfortunate demon's head. "Shielding spells," she said. "If all of us can do it together…"

"Our kind of magic isn't like that," Percy said grimly. He had already taken down three demons that had dared to look at Amy the wrong way, his hair mussed and his glasses askew. "That's why we have wands – we direct our own magic."

Willow groaned. "Why is it we need my kinda magic when we don't have it?" she asked faintly. Another spell hit the wall above the table, one of the few wizards trying his best to reach the table.

"Maybe just this once, we can try things you way," Hermione blasted another flurry of spells over the table, a fresh group of demons squeezing into the ruins of The Three Broomsticks.

"But you know how crazy my magic gets," Willow started to protest.

"Crazy magic or getting out of here alive…" Percy caught her hand and squeezed it. "Given the choice, I know which I would prefer, Willow." She opened her mouth to argue, but he shook his head. "Willow, we need to have some kind of protection. We can't hold them off much longer. Amy doesn't have a wand and goodness only knows your focus is hardly exceptional with yours."

"Thanks," Willow pulled a face. "So, we're goin' for the big wandless mojo, huh?"

"If it works quickly, I think we need it," Percy said wryly.

Willow nodded, her face pale, but her expression determined. "Okay… Hermione, you and Percy keep 'em off our back and me and Amy'll get some kinda shield up if we can. Just make sure you guys are touching us when we're doing it or you'll get left outside."

The older witch nodded at once, squeezing aside to let Willow and Amy kneel opposite each other, both closing their eyes. Softly, barely audibly, they started to chant, both of them shaking as they gathered the magic to them and directed it as they needed it.

"Oh no…" Hermione whispered. "Oh no…"

"Give up, Miss Granger," the familiar, mocking voice was clear, even over the growls of the demons surrounding the wizard. "You honestly believe you can hold back my little army for much longer?"

"Did you know he was involved?" Percy hissed.

"Technically," Hermione replied, glancing back at Willow and Amy. Both of them were wide-eyed, perspiration beading on their pale faces, their pupils dilating, almost seeming to encompass their whole eyes.

"_Petrificus totallus_!"

Hermione swung back round to see Lucius Malfoy, stiff as a board, tip over backwards. It almost appeared in slow motion, his fall and landing, striking the wooden floor with a loud smack. "Percy!" she exclaimed in surprise.

The third Weasley son grinned bashfully at her. "I never liked him," he confided, then gasped as some kind of powerful blast blossomed out around him and Hermione, whirling to stare at Amy and Willow.

A glowing corona had swollen into a three-metre dome around all them, pale and transparent, both the Sunnydale witches sagging and panting with the effort of conjuring the barrier.

"Done," Willow croaked faintly.

And it was barely just the nick of time, several demons charging at it and getting blasted backwards by some kind of force, which left them scattered, though doing nothing but keeping them back and making them angrier.

"How long will it hold?" Hermione asked, wrapping a supportive arm around Willow's body.

"Not long," Amy panted out. "I haven't done magic in a long time and Will…"

"I didn't want to push too much… in case I couldn't come back…"

"Don't worry," Percy said, reaching over to grasp her hand, gasping as a ripple of electricity sparked from her fingers. "As long as it holds a little while, we'll be all right."

"We can't do anymore magic until its gone, though, because it shields magic from all sides," Amy added urgently, peering over the table. "And that wizard-guy looks really pissed off."

Four heads rose over the top of the table in time to hear the shout of "_Avada Kedavra_!" from the restored Lucius Malfoy, spots of angry pink on his pale cheeks, two more wizards by his sides adding their wands to the spell.

Percy and Hermione ducked on instinct, but Willow just grinned weakly at him and waved a hand, while Amy giggled. The spell simply crackled over the dome of light, rendered utterly harmless, bathing them all in a reddish glow for a moment.

"It won't hold for ever, you little bitch," Malfoy hissed. "And when it falls, do you honestly think you'll be strong enough to hold all of us off?"

"No," a cheerful voice said from behind him. "But that's what I'm here for." As he turned, a fist caught him under the chin. He hurtled across the room, screaming as he struck the shield, wild magic sparking over him and he crumpled to the floor.

"Buffy!" Willow exclaimed in relief.

"Couldn't just leave you here to have all the fun yourself, huh?" Buffy grinned, then nodded to the barrier. "Nice. You wanna just stay in there for now?" Even as she was speaking, she was taking on several demons. "It looks cosy."

"Probably a good idea," Willow said, sagging against Hermione and sighing with relief as five more figures entered the ruined tavern, each of them bearing wands and weapons, which were wielded to great effect against the demons.

"Uh… oh…"

Buffy groaned as a dozen more demons spilled into the room, as the two wizards regrouped over their fallen leader, grabbing him and vanishing with a loud crack, the small knot of fighters surrounded on all sides.

"Willow! Drop the shield! We have to help!" Hermione cried, the red-haired witch already doing so, both witches scrambling upright, Percy close behind them as they struck out at the nearest demons.

"You know what I really hate about traps?" Buffy said conversationally, ducking a huge, clawed hand.

"What might that be?" Wesley inquired, firing a bolt from a crossbow into a fleshy pink eye, grey fluid oozing from the wound as the demon shied back, bellowing with fury and pain.

The Slayer brought down the sword and dispatched the clawed hand with a drop kick as it kindly fell off its owner's wrist. "I hate that they're so damn trappy," she said, taking care of the demon's other hand.

"So eloquently put," Giles said, tight-lipped. "You realize we're terribly out-numbered, don't you?"

"Oh yeah," Buffy acknowledged, diving under a fleshy stump to knock Sirius out of the way of charging demon, though a sharp-scaled limb caught his chest, ripping through the shirt and flesh. "But I'm not letting them know its getting to me." She looked down at Sirius, beneath her. "You okay?"

"Bleeding like a slaughtered pig," the man said tautly, but still managed to grab Buffy and roll then from beneath the lunging claw again. "I'll be fine."

"Doesn't look fine."

"He smells all right to me, Slayer," Spike flashed a grin over at the fallen man.

"Bite me, Spike," Buffy retorted, though her grin was brittle as she struck out with the sword and axe again.

"Maybe later, ducks," the vampire said, his eyes glittering. "When Minnie isn't around. Don't want her getting jealous now, do we?"

Minerva, who was hexing as fast as she could, threw a scathing look at him. Her dark hair had come unpinned and was spilling around her face, her robes torn and her face streaked with blood. "Don't flatter yourself, Billy," she said drolly. "Professor Summers, I do believe we might die soon, unless you have a rather impressive escape plan hidden up your sleeve."

"Not on my shift," Buffy growled. "Willow, is Glory here?"

Willow shook her head in the negative, grabbing Hermione's hand and blasting a surge of white light at two demons. "She was, but then she left," she said breathlessly, nodding to the door. "Left her little wizards here."

"Okay. Probably gone after Dawnie... and so deciding I don't like wizards much."

"Excuse me," Giles cleared his throat, stumbling upright from the ruins of the tables he had just been thrown into. He was bleeding from a wound at his temple and his left arm was hanging loosely by his side.

"Nothing personal, Giles," Buffy grinned tautly. Her robes had been thrown off as soon as she had leapt off Buckbeak, to allow her freedom of movement, her shirt and pants soaked with blood and mucus. Her face was smeared with gunge and she looked more like a native warrior than ever before.

"What are we going to do?" Amy's voice was trembling as she smashed a chair over the head of the demon, which was grappling Percy.

"Keep on fighting," Buffy said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "It's what we always do." Decapitating one of the demons she looked around at them all. "We've never lost before. We won't this time either."

"You always were one for the dramatic speeches, weren't you?"

At the new - and familiar - voice, Buffy slowly started to grin in earnest. Dodging a dozen blows, taking down another of the hulking creatures, she shot a look towards the three new arrivals standing in the doorway, the first speaker currently holding a demon by the throat and squeezing, another delicately cleaning some blood of a furry half-paw, half-hand and the third...

"Oz!" Willow gasped, staring at the furry and clawed young man, who smiled back at her, then amiably tackled the demon who had tried to catch her off-guard, tearing out its throat with ridiculously strong jaws.

Buffy couldn't help laughing as the two half-morphed werewolves joined into the fray, battling her way over to Angel, as he started lashing out at the vast monsters right along with her.

"You took your time," she said, tossing her sword to him and swinging the axe back to catch another attacker under the jaw.

Brown eyes blurred into gold as Angel spun the sword and grinned toothily at her. "Better late than never, huh?"


	60. Team Work

TEAM WORK

Notes: Yes, I know it has been a while, but what with family crisis of various shapes and sizes, two computer explosions, unemployment, computer time limits, travelling, christmas, many more fandoms invading my noggin and generally having a crappy time at home, I haven't been particularly inspired to write. And I mean that in an I-have-produced-barely-2000-words-of-fic-in-six-months kind of way.

My writer's block got that bad. Couldn't even hand-write anymore, which hasn't happened since 1997.

Then, I went to Ashfae and (now husband) Chris's pre-wedding dinner, couldn't eat because of a stomach upset and spent about an hour writing some of this on napkins. How Rowling-esque of me. Methinks I just needed to be surrounded by about 30 fellow geeks to get the motivation back :) So, this chapter is for you, Chris and Fae :D

* * *

It was almost eerily quiet. The chilly wind rustled the silver-hued leaves, night birds calling to one another. Light slanted between sinister, looming trees, picking out indistinct shadows and shapes.

Between them, something was moving erratically, flickering between sharp silhouettes and behind him, some distance but gaining fast, a swell of darkness seemed to be writhing across the ground.

The young man ran through the forest, branches and bracken whipping at his face and bare arms. He stumbled between the trees, streaks of blood trailing from scratches that were scattered on his skin, his features flushed.

Every breath was catching raggedly in his lungs and he crashed to the ground as a root snagged his foot. Wet soil soaked through his jeans, his feet scraped and bloody as he pushed himself upright, staggering on.

Behind him, the sound of dozens of footfalls and the snarls of strange beasts could be heard, only making him increase his pace.

Shielding his face with his forearms, he broke through a thicket of bushes and onto open grass, half-choking on a relieved breath at the sight of a castle sitting ahead and a small, tumbledown house less than a hundred meters away.

Leaving a dull smear on the silver-sheened damp grass, his body forced him the rest of the short distance and he fell against the door, panting horribly, one hand weakly slapping at the wood.

"Help me… help… me…"

A barking within heralded the owner of the house's approach, the huge door jerked open. Bright black eyes peered out from a massive hairy face, surprise in his expression as the young man all but fell into the house.

"You gotta help me…" he panted, as a huge hand caught him by the shoulder and hauled him upright. "They're coming…"

"They?"

Earnest and frenzied brown eyes stared up at the giant. "Demons!" he croaked. "I saw them cross the boundaries… they're coming…"

Those black eyes went wide. "Ri'… ri'!" the giant nodded quickly. "Have ter let them at the school know…" The young man was released as the massive man swung up a huge crossbow in his hands. "They'll get yer patched up all ri' at the school. Are yer goin' ter be able ter walk?"

The young man nodded, swallowing hard, lowering his head. "Yeah… yeah, I think so," he said breathlessly, still leaning heavily against the broad doorframe. "We have to hurry… we have to get there before they do…"

"A' ri'," the massive man said, nudging the young man down the steps and pulling the door closed behind him. "Don' worry. We've got protection there an' all. Ye'll be safe as houses here... er… 'ere, where did you come from anyway?"

Brown eyes stared up at the castle as they hurried towards it, the smaller man's steps quickened to keep up with the giant strides of the other. "I was a prisoner," he mumbled faintly. "I got out."

"Good thing ye did, eh?" the giant beamed down at him. "What's yer name, then?"

With a faint, almost bemused smile, the young man looked up. "Ben," he replied.

* * *

Pulling her sword out of a demon's belly, Buffy swayed on her feet for a moment, panting. Blonde strands of hair were darkened to honey shades with perspiration, clinging to her cheeks.

Turning, she surveyed the battle ground, where a last handful of demons were being taken care of by her companions. "Everyone okay?" she called out, loudly enough to be heard, her voice breathless.

"Someone's bleeding a lot," Angel dropped the carcass he was holding, whirling to stare at Giles, who was standing upright and methodically whacking the blade of his axe on a demon's head at his feet. "Giles…"

"Flesh wound," Giles said, though his face was pale. The cut on his temple was no longer bleeding, but it had left his cheeks mordibly striped with dark red. "Nothing too serious."

"Red Two got a knock on the noggin," Spike growled, pulling a spar of wood out of his shoulder and nodding to Percy, who was being supported by Amy. "And Minnie's probably sloped off to have a tipple."

His words were belied by the fact his eyes were scanning the room, relief crossing his face as McGonagall rose from the rubble like a vengeful demon, shaking dust off her hat. Her face was white with dust, save for the bloody trickles rolling from her hairline. "Do shut up, Billy."

Spike grinned faintly. "Likewise, you cow," he said, though he held out an arm, which she gripped for support at once.

"Will?" Buffy sought out her friend. "You okay?"

Willow blinked, then nodded as she was helped upright by Hermione and Oz, both of whom were looking bloodied and more than a little the worse for wear, but even more than that, furiously angry.

"How quickly can we get back to the school?" the Slayer said, looking around. "Giles, can you…"

The Watcher pointed his wand at his left shoulder, his white shirt rapidly darkening with red. He muttered a quick spell, then threw a pained smile at her. "I should be able to get someone back with me."

"I can fly with someone," Remus added. Like Oz, his face was pale, but now, even though he was hairless and clawless, he somehow looked more feral. "That Goddess still after you?"

"Yeah. Hermione?" The witch nodded. "You take Will. Professor, you get Spike in there." McGonagall nodded, catching Spike's arm and heading for the door. "Giles, you and Wesley again. Remus, take Oz. Sirius…" Hazel eyes darted around. "Sirius?"

A shrill whistle from outside the ruin of the pub caught their attention, the Animagus already mounted on Buckbeak, brooms laid out on the ground, awaiting riders. "I can take two more!" he called. "Hurry!"

The Slayer nodded, darting out the door and flinging herself up behind Sirius, then motioned to Angel, who eyed the beast dubiously for a moment before clambering up behind her, arms tight around her.

Buckbeak snorted and bucked in protest, but a word from Sirius quieted him, the animagus glanced back. "I'm guessing you're the other vampire, mate," he muttered to Angel, who wasn't looking all to thrilled at his precarious position, slipping on Buckbeak's smooth back.

"He's a good guy," Buffy gasped out, as Angel held on even more tightly. "Useful in a fight."

"Good call," Sirius nodded, then dug his heels into Buckbeak's sides. "Hold on!"

"I'll keep Percy here!" Amy called, as the others took up their brooms, Remus snatching an abandoned one from the broomstick parking rack just outside the pub. "I don't think he could fly straight if you asked him to."

Buffy nodded tightly, her body pressed between Sirius' shoulders and Angel's chest, then clung to Sirius as Buckbeak surged off the ground, huge wings beating the air and driving them higher and higher. She heard the familiar faint hiss of broomsticks kicking off from the ground too and grit her teeth.

"We're coming, Dawnie…" she whispered.

* * *

"How the hell did they get in here?" Tossing a huge desk in an overarm, the demons beyond knocked down like skittles, Faith whirled on Dumbledore, who was casting hexes as fast as he could. "I thought you said this place was protected."

"Not from the likes of them," the old man replied, a spell knocking a flaming torch from its bracket. The blazing wood crumbled down and engulfed a demon, which whirled about, shrieking. "They're immune to magic."

"But not to fire," the tiny Professor Flitwick nodded shrewdly, casting a charm that drew the natural fire into a barrier which roared like a blazing curtain over the doorway, through which only a foolhardy demon would venture, if it valued its hide.

Faith had to admit she was impressed. As soon as the old guy had got word that the big G was on her way, the kids had been scattered to hidden chambers and the staff had rallied together as if it was something they did every day.

They had gathered in the main entrance hall, a huge room, perfect for picking a fight. Hagrid had arrived a few moments later, closely tailed by a young guy, who stumbled in the threshhold as demons leapt after him.

There had been way more of them than she had expected, big and ugly and freaky-lookin'. No wonder the guy Hagrid had brought had been running from them. All they'd had time to work out from Hagrid's garbled words were that the boy was an escapee of Glory and he had come to warn them that demons were coming, which wasn't exactly big news anyway.

Nice thought, but totally expected.

And then, there was the added twist that magic didn't work on the demons, which screwed the 'blast 'em to bits' plan, but the improvisation that had developed was enough to make her stop and stare.

It explained why she presently had an unpleasant sensation of blood trickling down the back of her neck. A glancing blow had struck her when she had stopped fighting long enough to watch some short, dumpy little professor throwing a handful of colourful beans across the floor, then saw the beans explode upwards into towering plants.

Not magic, just real quick, she figured, since the barbs seemed to cut the demons all the same.

Another professor, a grey-haired woman, had lead a small group on broomsticks, armed with things that looked way too sharp and deadly to be flyin' through the air in the hands of a buncha crazy witches and wizards.

Still, they had taken care of a lot of the demons still loose in the grounds, heads rolling. So what if the vehicle was magical and the person was too? The swords they were wielding to deadly effect weren't.

Nor, she had noticed, amused, was the poker wielded by the librarian.

"Still doesn't explain how they got inside," Gunn's voice reached Faith. He was halfway across the main entrance hall, swinging an axe in one hand and machete in the other. "I know these kinda uglies. They're like vamps. They got some kinda manners – you gotta invite them in before they can kill you."

"Someone invited them in? But no one in here's that du…"

Immediately both of them looked in the direction of the young man who had entered with Hagrid, or at least the place where they had seen him collapse – bloodied and disorientated – on the stairs, when Hagrid had pulled him free of the demons' claws and dragged him to safety.

All that was left him was a trail of bloody footprints, which seemed to stop suddenly, about halfway up the white marble of the staircase.

"Oh, _fuck_!" Faith exclaimed and started to run.

* * *

"But I can't just run away!"

"Sure you can, Dawnie," Without further ado, Xander caught the slim teen around the waist, hoisting her off her feet and unceremoniously depositing her in the gaping hole that had been revealed when a panel of walling had slid aside. "You're going into the walls. It's the safest place for you."

"Xander!"

"It'll be safe for her in there, right?" Xander turned to Snape, who was muttering a series of protection hexes and charms around the room.

The wizard nodded grimly, glancing over his shoulder at the girl. "As long as she does as she is told, for once, and stays there."

"But Dumbledore said Glory couldn't get in! He said they had way big magics to keep her out!" The Muggle and the wizard exchanged looks, which Dawn interpreted easily, her face going pale. "She's found a way passed, hasn't she?"

"We are uncertain of the situation, at present, Miss Summers," Snape said, his voice low and curt. The lack of sharpness in his tone seemed to strike home how serious the situation was. "My advice to you is to follow the instructions you have been given and keep out of sight until it is safe."

Beyond the room, there were the distant blasts of charms, voices rising in anger and vehemence. Dawn bit her lip, staring at the half-closed door, then shrank back into the passage in the wall.

"I don't want anyone to get hurt because of me," she whispered.

Xander tried to smile. "Maybe they're just having an argument with each other?" he suggested, ignoring Snape's expressive eyeroll. The sounds of combat seemed to be growing closer and closer by degrees. "You okay with the hiding?"

Dawn glanced down the passages, shivering a bit. "Looks kinda old and creepy..."

"Want for me to come with?" Before she even had a chance to reply, Xander had eased through the low opening, glancing up at the wizard. "If you close that thing, you gonna be able to find us again?"

Snape arched a brow. "Why would I wish to do such a thing?" he inquired.

Xander stared at him. "You..."

"He's _joking_, Xander," Dawn said, a faint smile crossing her lips. "Dumbledore'll know how to find us and if he can't, I think Willow has something that'll get us out of here no problems."

As Snape started to slide the panel across, he heard the Muggle say "What? Blowing out a wall with the power of her mind?" and though he knew the youth was most likely making light of the situation, Severus knew that if the situation called for it, he was most certain that the youngest Weasley would do just that.

Slipping from the room, he pulled the door closed with a quiet click. Where that passage lead, he was uncertain, but he knew that if anyone from outwith the school tried to enter through the entrance used by Summers and Harris, they would be greeted by more than they bargained for.

Starting back down the corridor, he had covered less than two dozen paces when he heard the scuff of footsteps, froze. Tilting his head, he glanced down one of the corridors, lit only here and there by lanterns, saw a shadow moving, flickering. There was a muffled whimper, then silence.

Wand gripped against his palm, he directed it down the hallway, muttering "_Lumos_" under his breath. The passage was flooded with pale, shivery light, highlighting the figure which was pressed back against a wall.

"Don't hurt me!" the young man gasped, raising his hands to shield his face. His feet were bare, his clothing torn, hair matted to his brow and the visible patches of flesh marked with fresh, healing wounds.

Turning his wand in his hand, tightening his hold, Snape approached the trembling man warily. "How did you get in here?" he said, the impedimenta spell on the edge of his mind, his footsteps light, careful.

"The big... big, hairy guy..." the man gulped, his hands hovering around the level of his chest, eyes fixed on Snape's face. "There… there were demons after me… I… I escaped from them…"

Staring fixedly at the man, Snape's jaw tightened. He didn't even have to reach in beyond those brown eyes to find the truth. It was blindingly clear, like a bold, flashing sign raised above the young man's head.

He took a breath to voice the spell, crying out "_Petrificus totallus_!", but it came a heartbeat too late.

Short sandy hair cascaded outwards into blonde curls, brown eyes blurring into blue-green, rouged lips curving up in a grin. The spell washed over the now-female body and she tossed her head back with a pleasant shiver, as if indulging in a blast of water.

Retreating a pace, Snape's heart leapt against his sternum as he stared at her. There was no doubt in his mind of whom he was seeing; The casual sneer, the slight, girlish appearance, the coldness of her eyes all spoke measures.

"Glory…" he murmured.

The woman shook off the last flickers of the spell, reaching up to pat her hair into a more orderly fashion, then turned those piercing eyes on him. "Well, well, well," she purred. "Look what I found."

Almost on sheer instinct, his wand flared as he hissed out, the words laced with the bitterest of venom, "_Avada kedavra_!"

Green light splashed over the woman's slender form and she started to laugh outright, gleefully. "Mmm!" she exclaimed, taking a prowling step towards him. "Do it again, poodle. It tickles!"

Cold terror wove around Snape's mind, but he retreated no further, knowing if he could hold her here, for a time, it would grant Summers Junior and Harris time to find a safer haven. Canting his chin, he lowered his wand. "Magic does not affect you?"

"Ain't you a smarty pants?" Glory smiled like a snake.

She laced her fingers together, stretched her arms above her head, her knuckles crackling noisily. Suddenly, the sound of combat in the distance seemed to fade to nothing in the light of her presence.

Circling her, hoping to draw her away from the chamber where the secret doorway was, Severus's eyes never left her face. He considered – briefly – delving into her mind, but the madness on the surface was raw and savage enough.

"So, madame, what brings you to our school?"

The woman's fingers were twitching close to her sides, her eyes running over his face. "I think you know, poodle," she said. "Luce has told me all about you… never fitting in with anyone… always stickin' out like a sore thumb, he said…"

"This coming from that idiot?" Snape drew his best sneer onto his lips. "I'm amazed he didn't add a 'so there' onto the description."

"Don't exactly see you out there, playin' with the rest of your team, sweetie," Glory responded, her head jerking back towards the entrance hall. "Always on your own, hidin' away, never gettin' on with anyone…"

"Ah, yes," Backing slowly down the corridor, away from the door that lead after Summers Junior, he smiled coldly. "You have discovered my dreadful secret. I'm an abysmal coward."

"Don't think that's your only secret, poodle…"

Snape's smirk wavered slightly, consternation and confusion ripping through him. A touch of her mind with his own made him jerk back. He almost laughed bitterly. So… that was what they thought, was it? Good grief, Lucius was even more stupid than he had believed possible.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, madame," he said quietly. The moonlight and shadow cut across him in strips as he backed away down the long hallway, Glory prowling after him like a feral beast.

"Sure…"

His mind was working furiously, as he slipped his wand back inside his robes, his feet carrying backwards him down a broad stone staircase, bare glimpses keeping him on level footing.

So, magic didn't work on the wretched woman. Physical force was a possibility, but he doubted it. After all, if Summers had been unable to defeat the woman, with her inane strength, what chance did a mere human have.

Perhaps, if he could reach his compatriots, a dozen wands casting simultaneously would have the effect that a single wand wouldn't.

Beneath his foot, a step gave. _Damn it all_! He had forgotten about the trick step! His left leg sank to the knee in the pale stone, his other leg buckling under him, leaving him sprawled awkwardly, back on his hands, staring up at the Hell Goddess.

Glory laughed in delight, skipping down the steps towards him. "I love this building!" she said, malicious glee evident on her face. "All these neat little booby traps and no where to run!"

Without warning, she struck out with a backhand that almost threw him free of the step. Not quite. Snape's body lurched painfully, his head connecting with the banister, his knee burning in pain, still ensnared.

A sound of pain escaped him and he struggled to pull himself back upright. A tickle from one side of his mouth was caught on his tongue. Metallic. Bitter. Probably from the inside of his cheek.

Black eyes turned up to the woman, who was smiling icily down at him. "That was uncalled for," he said slowly, his head throbbing painfully. He had no doubts that he had an exceptional lump on his forehead too.

"Poor baby, all whiney," Glory pouted, bending over him and grabbing him by his upper arm, pulling him up until he was dangling from her grip. She licked her thumb. "Look how messy you are, poodle…"

Her thumb smeared and squeezed his lower lip, making him wince as more blood burst free, staining her pale skin.

She grinned at him. "Silly little key," she murmured. "Thinking you could hide here…" Lifting her hand, she laughed, then licked the blood from her fingertips. Her expression froze, blue-green eyes staring down into defiant black.

"Problem?" Snape inquired dryly, his bloodied smirk returning.

* * *

Somehow, the flight back to the school seemed to take even longer than the brief flight to Hogsmeade, the Slayer jerking herself from between the two larger men and leaping onto the grass.

Booted feet were running across the lawn as the brooms alighted and she didn't have to look back to know they were following.

"Get weapons!" she called back over her shoulder without even deigning to glance around. "Anything you can! If these things got passed the boundaries, they can't be good! Sticks, rocks, swords, anything!"

"Teeth?" Remus' voice rang back to her and she grinned in a way that was far from pleasant.

"Anything, Professor. And I mean anything." She threw a look back. "You got fangs, claws, inner bitch, everything. Spike, you can kill all you like. Will, if you can face it, unleash everything you've got."

Catching up with her, Angel looked down as they ran across the quad and up the stairs to the buildings. "That bad?"

Buffy's smile was terrifying in its coldness. "Not as bad as things'll be, if anything's happened to my sister." She sprinted up the long staircases from the lawn and into the entrance hall, where bodies were stacked all around, demon and a hanful of wizards and witches as well.

"This doesn't look promising," Wesley said, staring at the demons. "Those demons are resistant to magic…"

Buffy's expression said she had expected this. She drew a slow breath, then glanced around, raising a hand for silence. Wherever the fight was, it had moved deeper into the school.

Her eyes flicked around and she looked to Angel for confirmation, nodding towards the main staircase. The vampire nodded grimly.

"Okay," she murmured. "Sounds like they headed that way and split up. We got a lot of damage to do to a lotta people." Turning she looked at her group of friends. "We're going to have to split up too. Three groups. One vampire with each group. I'll take the main hall. The rest of you take care of damage control and find anyone whose left. Get as many as you can to either the medical wing or the locking dorms."

There were nods all round and they ascended the staircase, splitting off down the three hallways, Buffy taking the central one that lead up towards the classrooms and livings areas of the castle.

Passing a suit of armour, she snatched a sword, her lips compressing into a tight line. She could hear fighting ahead, could hear screams, her whole body taut as she ran on light feet.

One of the doors burst open, a huge demon staggering out. The Slayer's sword leapt up, but the demon tipped, crashing at her feet, half a dozen house elves scrambling off it, bowing and vanishing, leaving Dobby crouched before her.

"Dobby has to warn the Slayer!" he gasped. He was bleeding. "The Goddess is here, Mistress Slayer… she has someone… she found them…"

Buffy's face went white. "Which way?"

"BUFFY!"

The shriek came from further down the hall and Buffy broke into a run, which was halted when a gangly figure fell out of a hole in the wall and knocked them both flying. Whirling her sword around, Buffy froze.

"Dawnie!"

Her sister, snatched the sword and jabbed it into the hole, from which a perforated demon tumbled out. "Thanks," the teen said weakly, handing the gooey sword back.

"I tried to keep her hidden," Xander scrambled out of the hole in the wall as well. He was carrying an axe and looked unscathed. "But one came through the walls, so we kind of didn't have a choice."

"You're okay, though…" Dawn nodded, her face white as a sheet. "Dawnie, Glory's here." Blue eyes went wide with terror. "Dawnie, she isn't going to get you. We just need to keep you hidden somewhere safe…"

"Pr-professor Snape said the walls would be safe…" she mumbled.

Buffy's eyes narrowed. "Where is Snapey?" she demanded suddenly. She had passed some fighting groups in the halls, but had seen no sign of the Potions Professor.

"He-he was going back to fight," Dawn swallowed hard. "H-he said the walls were the safest place to hide… he said it… if we can't be safe there, what are we going to do?"

Buffy glanced around, then exhaled a sharp breath. "Get back to the Great Hall or one of the common rooms," she said, pressing her sword into Dawn's hand. "Don't use the main halls. Keep hidden…"

"What about you?" Xander asked softly.

"I'm gonna find that Goddess," Buffy said quietly. "And I'm going to make sure she knows not to mess with my place of work." She gave her friend a push down one of the long halls. "You keep Dawnie safe. These demons are nothing we can't handle."

"Gotcha," Xander nodded, grabbing Dawn by the arm and rushing off, as Buffy hurried in the other direction.

* * *

Rubbing her fingertips together, Glory stared at the reddish smear, her other hand tightening around the man's upper arm. His face went white, lips compressing, though he didn't make a sound.

"You're not my Key…" she mumbled, staring at the blood.

"Remove your hands from me." The words broke from behind tightly clenched teeth.

Glory's eyes narrowed."You _think_ you can talk like that to me, you miserable, slimy little worm?" She gave him a hard shake. "Like them all! Whining and yelping and snapping like a little bitty puppy, a baby dog all bark and no teeth…"

Black eyes stared at her, emotionless, no pain. His head tilted slightly to allow a sword tip to whirl passed and imbed itself in the wall behind him. "I repeat, remove your hands from my person."

"From your _person_?" Glory laughed nastily. "You're just so stiff upper lippy, huh? Just like my little Luce." Her hand tightened and there was a muffled sound, a dull, wet cracking. Black eyes went wide, broad nostrils flaring, but he didn't cry out. Glory grinned delightedly. "Whaddya know? Not a peep!"

"Remove… your… hands." His voice was tight, trembling.

"Ooh! Spunky!" Glory flinched when a blast from a wand hit her shoulder, her shirt searing away.

With her free hand, she reached out, tore down a painting, hurling it with terrifying accuracy. From the bottom of stairs, there was a cry, then silence. Her grip on the man's arm, though, only tightened. The man's face went grey.

"Tell you what; you tell me where my Key is and I'll just kill you. No torture. I'll be nice."

The dark eyes flickered. "No idea."

She squeezed. Hard. A shade of green washed over the grey. "Try again, poodle. You got lots of bones and I got time to kill."

There was a fleeting twitch at the corner of his white lips. "So sorry." he said flatly.

Glory's expression twisted, suddenly ugly. Her hand jerked and the man jerked with a sharp gasp, eyes wide, but still he was staring, staring like a crazy kooky little dog, all mad and staring.

"You knot it!" she shrieked furiously. "I know you know!"

"Sorry. No clue."

"Liar… liar…" she moaned, shaking him by the broken arm, mumbling it over and over, crescendoing to a scream. "LIAR!"

From the doorway across the hall at the bottom of the stairs, she heard a cacaphony of noise. Too many people! Too many trying to keep her precious key from her. She saw the almost mocking look in the man's freaky deaky staring eyes.

No way! She wouldn't lose this time!

Her free hand struck with viper's speed and only now, he uttered a strangled cry as her fingers penetrated his skull. She heard someone yell out behind her, ignored it. She felt the gooey warmth of his mind flood her, letting his body sag in her grip, her fingers slipping free as he hit the floor.

A groan of pure pleasure escaped her lips and she sucked her fingers for every last drop. What a mind.

"You bitch!"

Glory looked down the stairs, bemused, as a small, dark-haired woman started up the stairs towards, fury on her face. She was holding a sword and was the first of a small group, all of whom looked as angry as each other.

Damn, they were feisty little kiddies.

"C'mon, sweetcakes," she growled, hopping over the fallen man. "Show me what you got, before I pop your head like a grape."

She walked straight into the punch, startled when it threw her backwards. She hit something hard, a door, real old, and cracked it right down the middle, scrambling onto her feet as the girl charged at her.

"Geez!" Glory grumbled, ripping the remnants of the door off the hinges and throwing it at the girl, catching her in the midriff and knocking her, bouncing, across the landing. "Can't I just get my key and go?"

"You came to the wrong place, sister," the dark-haired girl was already on her feet again, approaching more warily this time. She ducked as the second half of the door whistled past her head.

Glory stared at her. "Why don't you people just die?" she inquired, circling the brunette. "I hit you, I throw things at you, I stab you, I beat the crap out of you, but you never just die."

The girl spread her hands in a mocking shrug. "We're bitches," she said, smiling coldly. "What can I say?" A punch caught Glory in the middle of the face, sending her skittering across the polished stone floor. "Big G! How is he?"

A voice floated up from halfway down the stairs. "Not good, Faith! You want me to help?"

"Help by gettin' his bony ass to the nurse!" the girl yelled back, grunting as Glory tackled her. "Get gone, G!"

Both of them tumbled end over end and colliding with the balustrade, the Goddess catching the girl by the throat, flipping her up and bringing her down with a sickening crack, across the broad marble banister.

Pressing all her weight down on the girl's neck, Glory grinned. "Too easy, sweetpea," she cooed, then screamed as one of the girl's steel-toed booted feet jerked up, full force, between her thighs.

"Ya think?" she gritted out, the heel of her hand snapping up and catching Glory below the jaw with enough force to toss her up, the Goddess body crashing through the candelabra above her.

Pushing herself back onto her feet, the girl rubbed her bruised throat as Glory swung back down from the candelabra. Swaying on her feet, the girl's dark eyes glittered, leaning heavily against the banister, one arm still dangling over the pale stone.

"C'mon, Princess," Glory smirked. "You think you can take me?"

The girl matched her smirk, though her expression was barely disguising the pain in her eyes, her body supported by the pale stone. "Try me, babe," she challenged softly.

With a mocking laugh, Glory dived at the girl, her laughter trailing into a scream as Faith swung her arm.

The metal torch holder she had worked free from the edge of the balcony smashed Glory across the face, embers and sparks leaping, the Goddess' golden hair bursting into a flaming corona around her face.

"Hot," Faith murmured faintly, a weak grin on her face as she sank down against the banister, her legs unable to support her any longer.

With a shriek, Glory whirled away, slapping furiously at her hair. Missing her footing, she stumbled, cascading down the staircase and, as she fell, the sickening crackle of bones and joints snapping out of place could be heard.

Her eyes closing, Faith winced, sagging against the stone. She couldn't feel anything beyond the pain in her back. She had felt something crack and it hurt like hell. Her legs, arms, even her head seemed to be fading, her vision going black.

"Damnit," she whispered, before everything went dark.

* * *

"C'mon… you got to be kidding me," Shifting his grip on the mace he had acquired, Gunn glanced around the halls, his brow creasing in frown. He could have sworn that he was heading towards the medical wing, but the dead end at the end of the hallway said otherwise.

On his shoulder, there was a faint groan, the dark figure he was carrying stirring from whatever realm of unconsciousness he had been visiting.

"Hold on, buddy," Gunn muttered, changing his weight from foot to foot. "We're gonna go back and try and get somewhere again…"

These kinda circumstances, he realised, made him miss L.A. more than anything. At least in L.A., you wouldn't get lost in a freaky great castle full of magic people and crazy Goddesses.

Making his way back down the hall he had just approached from, he couldn't help thinking that the night attack had been a good idea by the crazy psycho bitch leading the bad guys. He could barely find his way around the place in the daylight, but by moonlight, it was worse.

Taking a left, he stopped dead, his expression shifting into a far darker expression.

Okay, so it wasn't something he'd done wrong. He had taken the teacher-guy down one flight of stairs onto level storeys, that was all, which didn't explain how the hell he'd ended up at the top of seven flights of stairs.

"Goddamn magic," he growled, turning around to go back down the hall he had just emerged from. It was a dead end.

"Gunn!"

Whirling around, he almost smacked squarely into Harris and the Slayer's kid sister running up the flight of stairs, which hadn't been there five minutes before. "We got a major problem," he said flatly.

"In the building-changing-every-time-we-try-to-go-anywhere sense?" Dawn offered bitterly, hands on her hips. She tilted her head, then stared in dismay. "Oh God… is that Snapey?"

Gunn nodded grimly, with a glance at Xander. "Glory caught him. Faith was fighting her when I got there…"

"Where's Glory now?" Xander demanded, gripping Dawn's shoulders. The teen's face was pale and she was reaching out to touch the pale, limp hand dangling by Gunn's side.

Gunn shrugged helplessly. "Damned if I know, Xan," he muttered. "Someone's playing with the mojo. The school ain't this bad normally."

"Glory…" Dawn whimpered.

"Could be," Gunn conceded, then noticed that Dawn wasn't looking at him, or Xander or even the unconcious wizard slung over his shoulder. She was staring at the spot where a blank wall had been minutes before.

Whipping around, slipping Snape from his shoulder, Gunn pulled Dawn behind him, recoiling at the sight of what had been a stunning blonde when he had left her fighting Faith, only moments earlier.

Her golden hair was a singed mess, her clothes smouldering on her body, her once-pretty face blackened, but the grinning red lips and gleaming blue-green eyes were unmistakable.

"Back off," Gunn growled.

The woman only grinned the wider. "You gonna try and make me, like your little bitch did?" she taunted. "I'll snap you in half too."

Xander moved to flank Gunn, his expression grim. "You bitch."

"You think you two can stop me from having my fun?" the Goddess laughed, the mocking sound ringing off the high walls and staircases. "I'm gonna suck you all dry and leave you dripping for the Slayer to find."

"She'll stop you!" Dawn piped up, her voice thin with terror. "She…"

"Can't beat me," Glory drawled, her toothy grin growing ever more unsettling. "And she let her little buddy mess up my face." A blackened, crooked finger was wagged. "That's just not fair."

"Who said anything about fair?" Gunn snapped, snatching the axe from Xander's hand and hurling it. It struck the woman full in the chest. Metal shards splintered, flying in all directions, the trio flinging themselves at the ground, shielding their eyes and faces.

"Good shot," Xander mumbled, lifting his eyes.

"For the record," Gunn winced, raising his head to find Glory standing less than a pace from them. He scrambled to his feet, pulling Xander with him. "I don't _like_ Hell Goddesses."

Dawn was backing down the staircase, both men rising and shielding her with their bodies. "I'll make a note of it," she whispered, then froze. "Wait! Snape! We can't leave him!"

Looking down at the figure coiled at her feet, Glory raised her brows. She nudged him with her toe. "Got yourself a juicy piece there, sweetie," she said, smiling nastily. "Smart and sneaky. Ate him all up…"

Dawn went white, only Xander's arm catching around the midriff stopping her from lunging at the Goddess, clawed fingers extended, her expression twisted with hatred.

"Dawnie! No!"

"Nooo, Dawnie, nooo…" Glory laughed, prodding Snape's inert form again, his head rolling and squinting blankly up at her, black eyes vacant. "Whatcha gonna do, kid? I already took down your friends… you sister next…"

"I _hate_ you!" Dawn screamed, tears burning in her eyes. "I _hate_ you!"

Making a mouthing gesture with one hand, Glory rolled her eyes. "Blah, blah, blah… you whine a lot, sweetpea," she drawled.

"Shines…"

"No, dumbie," Glory planted a kick on Snape's body, which sent him tumbling down the stairs to crumple at Xander and Gunn's feet. "Whines. The kid _whines_ a heck of a lot."

Black eyes squinted up, beyond the two men, thin lips moving, as if trying to form words, a pale, thin finger rising and pointing at Dawn. "Shining… beautiful…" he said faintly, distantly.

Xander's face went white, his fist lashing out, knocking Snape into unconsciousness, before he could say anymore, but barely had his fist connected with Snape's face than Glory's arm struck him across the chest, sending him flying.

Catching Dawn by the wrists, Glory's eyes were wide. "Shining… you…" Her voice broke off into a scream of pain, her body jerking in an arc, her hands leaping away from the Slayer's sister.

Yanking the sword free from the Goddess' back, Buffy smiled coldly. "Get your hands off my sister."


	61. All Broke

ALL BROKE

Notes: Yet again, apologies for the delay (and technically, for the terrible habit of cliff-hangers, but I can't stop doing them ;D) but things are chaotic still. Part-time employment, possible new college courses and computer restrictions do not a happy Fyre make.

Also, there was something in this chapter which just wouldn't click until a completely random moment when I was halfway down a flight of stairs and suddenly, everything made sense. How long I ended up standing halfway down the stairs, I don't know, but yay! Sorted!

And lastly, no I won't be incorporating anything that happened in Half-Blood Prince in this fic. After all, this thing has been around since just after GoF came out in paperback, so if I were to keep it up to date with every one of the novels, I would be screwed :P

8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.

Falling against the wall, Glory stared at her assailant in shock. She could feel something trickling down her back, the stain that coloured her fingers informing her that – for the first time in her memory – she was bleeding.

"What…?" she mumbled, squinting through singed lashes. "Your toys don't work on me."

"Guess again, Glory," the Slayer was standing in front of her, a silvery sword gripped casually in one hand. The pommel was studded with deep, blood-red rubies, shimmering oddly by the light flickering through the windows. "You come to magic-ville, you gotta be ready to play with magic toys."

A sharp jab of the sword caught the Hell-Goddess under the ribs and she screamed as the blade penetrated her skin.

"Xander," Buffy said calmly, without so much as a glance back at her friend. "I want you and Gunn to get Snapey to the medical wing. Me and Dawnie are going to go for a little walk, after I show this bitch who is boss."

No questions were asked, the half-conscious figure of Snape caught up between the two men, who immediately started down a staircase, which seemed to have materialised obligingly for the purpose of escape.

Shielding Dawn with her body, the Slayer's eyes flicked sidelong as the trio faded out of sight, her attention leaping back just in time to block a savage blow from the golden-haired woman in front of her.

"You won't take my key!"

"That key," Buffy growled, twisting the sword in her hand, forcing it deeper and harder, until it emerged from Glory's back. "Is my sister."

"Buffy…" Dawn whispered, "She's too strong…"

Despite blood rolling down her chin and the wildness in her eyes, Glory laughed mockingly. "See, Slayer," she laughed, blood spattering them both. "Baby sister knows when she's in trouble."

Buffy's smile was far from pleasant. "She's right," she agreed quietly, withdrawing the sword, fresh torrents of scarlet flowing down Glory's belly. "You're stronger than I am. You can't be killed, even with a magic sword through your guts."

"Then why fight, little girl?" The Goddess' teeth were stained pink and she was smiling.

Buffy grinned at her. "Because I just love being a pain in the ass."

Straightening up, though swaying slightly due to the still-bleeding wound in her torso, Glory smoothed down the tattered remains of her clothing; an incongruous pair of pants and T-shirt.

"What's to stop me swatting you like a bitty bug and taking her?" she murmured, her eyes fixed on Dawn, who was clinging to Buffy's arms.

"Well," Buffy rocked on the balls of her feet. "You can't reach her."

"Can too." Glory moved to grab the girl, but the Slayer caught her wrist.

"Nuh-uh," she said, eyes gleaming. "We're up here and you…" Her other fist swung and caught Glory in the middle of her slashed chest. The Goddess hurtled into the air with a scream and plummeted over the broad banisters, dropping like a stone down the opening between staircases. "Well," She leaned over, waving as Glory dropped into the darkness. "You're waaaaaay down there."

Behind her, Dawn made a sound that sounded like a combination of sob and laugh, hands over her mouth.

"You okay, Dawnie?" Buffy turned to her sister, stumbling back a step when the teen crashed into her arms. "Whoa… easy…"

"She hurt Snape!" Dawn whispered frantically. "I thought she was going to kill me."

"Not while I'm still standing, Dawn," Buffy's voice was firm. "Come on. We're going to get you out of here and away from her."

"But where… and how can we go anywhere? We're in _Hogwarts_!"

Buffy caught her by the hand and started pulling her down one of the hallways, glancing around, as if expecting demons to jump out on every turn. "I'm working on it," she said quietly. "But for now, we run."

8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.

Racing through the halls, jinxing suits of armour to serve as mace-wielding weapons, Sirius had split off from the main group, who were still fighting the demons on the lower floors.

Whatever they were, the demons had managed to breach the corridors leading towards the hiding place of some of the students. Sirius, however, had other things on his mind: Flitwick had told him Faith and Gunn had sprinted off some time earlier and most likely were in need of wizard aid.

Even so, if he hadn't been wielding his wand, he was unsurprised to realise he would have rushed off to help them anyway.

A difficulty, however, had arisen, in the way the castle seemed to be changing almost constantly. Perhaps it was using a series of mirage-like effects, but after taking half-a-dozen right turns down a straight corridor that he had walked more times than he could recollect, he stopped dead and looked around.

"Look!" he yelled at no one in particular. "Do I look like one of the demons? I'm trying to help!"

In front of him, a wall shimmered out of sight, revealing the long hall he knew well and muttering a thank you under his breath, he started to run again, heading towards the room where he been told Dawn and Xander were being put into hiding.

Taking the steps three at a time, his heart racing and lungs burning, he skipped the trick step on force of habit, reached the landing, only for his foot to catch on something and send him sprawling on the ground.

"Clumsy much?" the faint whisper made him jerk around, scrambling onto his knees.

"Faith?"

Sprawled bonelessly against the balustrade, her features bloodied and swollen, one of Faith's eyes cracked open fractionally. "Hey," she murmured, oblivious to the trickle of red bubbling from the corner of her mouth. "You okay?"

Sirius couldn't find words, staring at her and nodding.

"Where's B?" Her voice was getting fainter by the moment.

"I haven't seen her since we separated in the lower levels," Sirius replied, moving to ease her into a better position. Her hand flopped against his, pushed it away. "Faith, I have to get you to Pomfrey."

"Screw that," Fire flashed in her dark eyes. "Got something… need you to do…"

"But you're hurt."

"Had worse."

"Faith."

"Shut up!" Grimacing, as if every word was causing her fresh pain, she caught his hand, squeezed until he – too – winced. "You gotta get Dawn." She jerked, coughing harshly, fresh blood running down her chin. "Glory's here… find Dawn. Help B get her out."

"I can't leave you!" Sirius exclaimed, using his sleeve to wipe her chin gently.

"Sure you can," Faith's eyes were forced open once more, the effort to do so apparent on her tightly-strained face. "Cos if you don't… we're goin' to hell… cos Glory'll have D…" She swallowed hard. "And that would piss me off…"

Sirius could see the ferocity in her eyes, nodded. "Wouldn't want to see you getting pissed off now, would we?" he said with mock-cheerfulness. "Can you point me in the right direction?"

"B'll want her out," Faith was gradually sinking down the stone, almost entirely inert on the floor. "Find a way."

"Yes, ma'am," He caught her, laid her down more carefully. "Don't go anywhere."

Faith laughed faintly. "So not an issue," she whispered. "Go!"

With a last squeeze of her ice-cold hand, Sirius scrambled to his feet and headed back down the steps, his footfalls fading into silence as Faith sank into unconsciousness on the landing.

8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.

"How do they usually get out?"

Eight floors, twenty six corridors, nineteen flights of stairs, two hidden doorways and six booby-traps down, Buffy was still running as fast as she had been on the upper levels, utter determination on her face.

Running as fast she could to keep up with Buffy, Dawn was out of breath and shaking like a leaf. "Walking… floo powder…" she panted out, her hair clinging to her face with perspiration. "Can't just vanish out… too many security things…"

"Kay…" Buffy caught her arm and abruptly turned them into another hallway, leading towards the main staircase and out onto the grounds. "So I get you out of the castle… know anywhere safe? What about that foresty place?"

"Forbidden… dangerous… bad…"

"More dangerous than here?" Buffy countered, only pausing to see Dawn doubled over and panting. Her face was no longer flushed, but bone-white and she looked as if she was on the verge of collapse. "Come on, Dawnie…" Rushing back to Dawn's side, she lifted her sister's chin, stroked her face. "We have to get out of here…"

"Can't…" Dawn whispered, clutching at her. "Can't run… hurts…"

"Just a little further, Dawnie…"

Dawn shook her head, her legs sagging beneath her. "Can't," she croaked.

"Kay…" Buffy said just as firmly. She bent and easily flung Dawn over her shoulder, then turned in the direction of the main halls again. "You hold on. We'll get into the forest and hide out there until Glory is gone, okay?"

"Kay," Dawn winced and grabbed at her sister's waist as Buffy started to run as fast she she could. Leaping from the tops of staircases to the bottom, her feet clattering on the stone, she skidded her way around corners, passing several combating groups.

"Buffy!"

Throwing a glance back at Angel, Buffy shook her head tightly and kept running, calling back, "Finish here! I'll keep her safe!"

Demons were still battling members of staff on the broad staircase as she raced into the entrance hall, Dawn bouncing against her back. Jumping, she skidded her way down the broad marble banister, dropping and rolling out of a clumsy handspring and back onto her feet, Dawn uttering a quaking groan.

"Next stop for Slay-cabs, the great outdoors," Buffy quipped through gritted teeth, bounding over the fallen bodies of dead demons, as if they were parts of a morbid assault course, though her blood turned icy at a shout behind her; "Out of my way!"

"RUN!" Willow's scream rang out.

Buffy risked a glance back and saw the red-haired witch standing at the top of the stairs, hands spread by her sides, her hair billowing around her head. She was shaking and looked like every ounce of her strength was being used.

The target of it was clear: Halfway down the stairs, Glory seemed to have frozen, but – burnt, bloodied and battered – she was fighting against Willow's magical hold on her, her face a rictus of rage.

Her heart wrenching, Buffy found that extra burst of speed, breaking out through the door and hurtling down the staircase onto the grassy lawn, her feet carrying her as fast as they could across the night-dewed lawn.

Behind her, she could hear Glory's ever nearing shouts of anger, spurring her onwards towards the dark, shapeless spill of the Forbidden forest. Whatever was in there, it had to be a helluva lot better than the demon chasing her.

She didn't need to look back to know that Glory was gaining on her. Her legs were burning and her hold on Dawn was slackening, though she was dredging up every ounce of energy she had left.

"Hang on, Dawn…" she whispered breathlessly. "Just hang on…"

"Buffy!"

Out of surprise, she almost stopped dead at the very un-Glory-ish voice that was suddenly a lot closer to her than Glory's. "Sirius?" she yelled, still staggering towards the forest.

"Up here!" A sudden gust of wind from massive wings whistled passed her and a shadow flew across them. "Throw her to me! I'll get her out of here!"

A glance back told her that Glory would be on her long before she could reach the forest and Sirius was a wizard so he would be able to protect her as well as she could. She nodded, pulling Dawn into her arms.

"Get her to there!" she yelled with a nod towards the forest.

"Buffy… she'll kill you…" Dawn's eyes were wide with terror.

Buffy grinned and shook her head. "No way," she said, then pressed a kiss to Dawn's brow. "I'm going to be killed by someone who can co-ordindate their colours." She jerked her head up. "Catch!"

With both arms, she threw Dawn upwards. The teen shrieked as she curved in an arc and started to drop back towards the ground, stopped in her fall by Sirius swooping down and scooping her out of the air, swinging her behind him on Buckbeak's broad back.

"Go!"

"NOOO!" The shout of rage rang across the grounds a moment before something impacted with the back of Buffy's skull and knocked her into unconsciousness.

8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.

"For a skinny guy, he sure weighs a hell of a lot."

"Maybe I shouldn't have hit him."

Gunn shook his head, shifting Snape's weight on his shoulder. "You needed to stop him runnin' off his mouth," he said firmly. "It's just damned bad luck that I ran into you guys with him."

"Did Glory…"

"Sucked him dry," Gunn confirmed.

Between them, Snape groaned faintly, one of his arms slung around each of their shoulders. His mouth and nose were bloody from Xander's punch and he was lolling limply, his feet dragging the floor beneath him.

"You know what happens to 'em after Glory gets 'em?" Gunn asked after several moments of silence only broken by the rasp of their breathing, as they carefully picked their way up a long flight of stairs. "They get better, right?"

Xander glanced at him, then shook his head grimly. "They're crazy," he said. "And they stay crazy. Haven't seen any one of Glory's victims who got better, no matter what they tried to do for them."

"Damn…"

They turned into another corridor, drawn onwards by faint sounds of battle, the logic being that if they could find someone who knew their way around the castle, then they'd be able to find someone who could take them to the medical wing.

A yell brought them up short. A massive figure was weaving its way towards them and Gunn swung Snape into Xander's grip fully, grabbing a switchblade from his pocket and a length of chain from around his waist.

"Do you always carry them?"

"Sure," Gunn threw a tight grin at the younger man. "No harm in bein' prepared, right?"

He swung out with his chain as the demon came within range. It whirled around the demon's head and a sharp tug pulled it off balance, wobbling as Gunn threw himself into a roll, coming up and slashing down one meaty thigh.

A rapid follow-up slash caught it across the middle of the torso, leaving a gush of black fluid puddling on the floor, but it seemed oblivious, turning black, glittering eyes on the human who was inflicting such damage on it.

A third lunge sent innards cascading over Gunn's hand. "Damn!" he exclaimed, trying to pull his hand free of the mess of guts. "That thing is _tough_!"

The demon uttered a bellow, reaching down with unnatural speed and catching Gunn by the throat, ignoring the slashes of the blade that were peppering its huge arm. It staggered forward, swaying, towards the unarmed Xander, as Gunn wrestled against its hold.

"Uh…" Glancing down at Snape, who was half-sagged to the floor, Xander dived forward, pushing the potions professor's body in a slow skid along the floor, where it tangled under the demon's feet.

Unable to direct itself, unable to see or disentangle its limbs from cloak and body of the human under its feet, it wobbled precariously, the tipped and fell forward. Gunn pulled free of its grip and bringing his knife around in a clean arc, lodging the blade in the back of its head. The spread of black goo increased, splattering both of them.

Half-sprawled, half-sitting, Xander stared at it warily. "You think its dead?"

"I think it's gonna have one helluva headache if it ain't," Gunn replied, panting and rubbing his bruised throat. "Damn thing nearly had me. Good move, usin' old creepy for a tripwire."

Xander smiled weakly, getting back to his feet. He nudged the demon's motionless head with the tip of one shoe. "Just saving my own skin," he said, offering Gunn a hand. "If I hadn't fallen over, I would have been outta here."

"Sure," Gunn laughed hoarsely. "C'mon. Let's get creepy to the meds."

With effort they hauled Snape upright, after disentangling him from the limbs of the fallen demon. He was still hovering in and out of consciousness and like the other two men, was liberally splattered in the black, viscous fluid that had spilled from the demon's body.

Shaking the gooey tendrils off, they started carefully along the hall, feet slipping a little as if their shoes were coated in ice.

"That stuff stinks," Gunn observed, then swore as one boot skidded in the goo.

"If we cut you open and spilled your guts on the floor, I don't think you'd smell of roses yourself," Xander countered, then went rigid, slowly glancing back over his shoulder.

"What?"

"Uh…" Xander slowly jerked his head. "Kinda not dead…" he noted. "Kinda more in the upright and walking towards us state of being."

"Goddamn!"

"Duck!" A third voice yelled from somewhere ahead of them, a blast of light passing over their heads as they threw themselves to the floor.

The beam of light exploded off a torch bracket on the wall above them, the flaming torch tumbling down and landing in the puddle of ichor at the demon's feet.

"You missed!" Gunn yelled. "How could you miss…"

His voice, however, trailed off as the crackling fire licked its way up the streams of blood pouring down the demon's body and the huge body was engulfed in flames. With an agonised howl, the demon staggered back, the fire burning brighter and hotter, until the massive creature toppled over, burning to ash in a matter of seconds.

"Damn…" Gunn whispered in admiration.

"Ditto," Xander picked himself up off the floor and peered further down the hall.

A smaller figure stepped out of the shadows in the light of one of the windows, wand in hand, looking pale and shaken by the moonlight.

"I heard them sayin' Dawn was in trouble," Duncan Cameron mumbled. "I wanted tae help." He took an unsteady step closer to them, staring at the lump of molten demon, then looking from Gunn to Xander. "You willnae tell them I did magic in the corridors, will ye? They'll take points off of us…"

Leaning onto the wall for support, Gunn stared at the teenage boy. "You snuck out into the school when you knew there were demons and monsters, to make sure Dawn would be okay?" he said in disbelief. "And now, you save our lives then get freaked about losin' points?"

Halfway through pulling Snape upright, Xander grinned. "I think we have a new Scoobie of the Willow variety," he said with a chuckle. "I don't think they'll take points from you for defending the school."

Duncan looked both relieved and pleased, then noticed the bedraggled bundle that was being negotiated between the two men. "Is… is that Professor Snape?" he asked, the newly-returned colour flooding from his face.

"Yeah," Gunn winced as he pulled the man back up. "Hey… kid, do you know the way to the medical wing?"

"Aye…" Duncan mumbled, still staring at Snape. "Is… is he alive?"

"For now," Xander said significantly, remembering hearing from Dawn about how terrified the Scottish boy was of Snape. "We need to get him to Madam Pomfrey to get him fixed up."

Duncan nodded, still staring at Snape, then, he seemed to decide something. He pointed his wand at the teacher. "_Leviocorpus_!" Snape jerked from Xander and Gunn's grip, then hung suspended neatly in mid-air between them. "I'll get him there," he said quickly. "If you want to go and help the others fightin'. They… they need to know fire kills the things."

"How'd'you know that anyway?"

Duncan met their gazes proudly. "Professor Summers taught me," he said quietly. "Fire and not magic. You need to tell people."

Gunn and Xander exchanged looks, then nodded.

"Thanks, kid," Gunn said. He took off at a slipping sprint, but Xander hesitated a moment, looking down at Duncan, who was starting to nudge Snape along the corridor with his wand, the Professor bobbing oddly.

"I'll make sure no one takes points off you," he said with a warm smile. "You did the right thing." Duncan blushed beetroot, looking down at his toes. "Be careful, okay?"

The boy nodded. "You too," he said.

Xander threw him a salute, then took off, running, after Gunn.

8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.

With a shriek, Dawn clung to Sirius's waist, her hair whipping and slashing against her face in the icy winds as they rose higher and higher above the ground. She could barely breathe, her heart battering against her ribs.

Beneath her legs, she could feel every rise and falling stroke of Buckbeak's massive wings, her eyes squeezed tightly shut against the terrifying drop beneath them.

"Don't worry!" Sirius' voice carried back to her through the whistling of the wind. "We'll get you to the forest."

"Are you _crazy_?" she heard herself scream, then shrieked again as the hippogriff went into a steep dive.

Arguing with Buffy had been impossible with the whole hanging-upside-down-over-her-shoulder thing, but now, she could argue and yell all she liked. Apart from when the hippogriff bucked, like he was doing now. She heard Sirius swearing, felt herself slipping and clung tighter.

"What…?"

"Hold on!"

"Not planning on doing anything diff…"

The air lurched beneath them and Dawn felt like her stomach had suddenly leapt into her throat as Buckbeak's dive was suddenly cut short and he catapulted himself and his two riders back up towards the stars.

Practically bucked up off the smooth back, Dawn gasped as the wind struck her face again, vicious and bitingly cold. Clutching desperately at Sirius' waist, she pressed herself against his back, cheek between his shoulder blades.

Only then did she see why the hippogriff was wheeling around so wildly.

Half a dozen figures on broomsticks were racing towards them from the edge of the grounds and she felt Sirius fumbling for his wand, his other arm locked around Buckbeak's neck.

"Oh God…"

"Don't worry. Buckbeak's smarter than any old broomsticks."

As a jet of scarlet light sizzled passed her ear, Dawn flinched, suddenly thinking that Buffy's bumping and bruising run hadn't been nearly as bad as the potential falling-off-hippogriff-and-meeting-the-ground.

"Faster?" she squeaked.

Sirius threw of several jinxes and hexes over his shoulder at the cloaked figures who were bearing down on them, then leaned forward. Dawn could have sworn he was whispering something to the hippogriff.

Suddenly, he leaned back, pulled her even closer to his back and gripped her wrists in his wand hand.

"Hold on tight," he said grimly.

"What fo…"

The words trailed of into a breathless howl as Buckbeak shot into a steep-angled vertical flight, coming round, then up, up and over into a sharp loop, the forces of gravity racing against the huge beast's speed, as he rolled and sent himself soaring off in the opposite direction.

Behind them, their assailants yelled in shock and outrage that their enemies were making an escape.

Behind Sirius, Dawn was trying her best to keep breathing. Holding on didn't matter so much. She was pretty sure they would have to cut her fingers away from Sirius' waist. She was also _real_ grateful that she hadn't stopped for dinner.

"Okay?"

"Mreh?"

Sirius laughed roughly, though she could see him glancing back down at her. "That was nothing," his voice carried down to her between blasts of light and charms. "You should see what I could do on my bike."

"Oh God…" Dawn whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut. "Oh God… crazy man… crazy, crazy man…"

Buckbeak lunged into a dive again and Dawn heard a voice that definitely wasn't Sirius and it was far too close by. One eye cracked open and she saw a broom shoot overhead. There was another close behind, one that Sirius couldn't have seen.

"Sirius!"

Her words were either unheard or far too late.

A blast of light from behind struck Buckbeak, the rapid beats of the wings freezing, the hippogriff's body jerking, then going rigid and starting – almost the second the light had hit it – to fall.

"Buckbeak!" Sirius screamed out, his wand shaking as he and Dawn were tossed into the air. "_Finite incantatum_! _FINITE INCANTATUM_!"

Buckbeak's descent, though, didn't slow, nor did his rigid form move.

To shocked to fight, Dawn felt Sirius turn, wrapping his arms around her, his body beneath hers, protecting her as they plummeted towards the ground. "Sorry," he growled against her hair, holding her as tightly as she was him.

Suddenly, something seemed to grab her, like a giant hand, jerking her out of the animagi's grasp and she screamed.

Below, she saw Sirius' horrified face staring back up at her, growing more and more distant by the instant, her own body dangling helplessly, upside down, in mid-air, as if caught on an invisible line.

A broomstick rose to her level, hovering an arm's length away from her, and Lucius Malfoy pushed back the hood of his cloak with a cold smile. "We meet again, Miss Summers," he murmured.


	62. Time To Act

TIME TO ACT

Notes: Several things of note - I've managed to trim this story down to 70 chapters, instead of 75, and I've just re-started college, doing artsy related stuff. All in all, things are going fairly well :)

And yes, I am aware this chapter could have been interspersed with the last one, but I didn't realise until after I wrote that one and was halfway through this one.

"These creatures are really starting to be rather annoying."

Picking himself out of the ruins of a stack of desks and chairs, Spike dusted himself down and threw a disbelieving look at McGonagall. "Minnie," he said, snatching up his choice of weapon: a bent breastplate. "You have a knack for stating the obvious."

"I like to think so," Professor McGonagall agreed mildly, hurling a table with a flick of her wand. It collided with one of the demons, who smashed against the wall, before groaning upright again, progress only halted momentarily. "Damn."

Somehow, the demon battleground had moved up into the classrooms and Minerva was chagrined to realise she had already managed to destroy half of Flitwick's room, a good portion of one of the divination classes, as well as wielding the arithmancy blackboard to impressive, yet completely futile effect.

"Minnie! Language!"

"Do you two ever shut up?"

Both witch and vampire threw wry grins at Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, who was carrying a sword in one hand and swinging a mace in the other.

"Only when no one is watching, Watcher Junior," Spike said amiably, bringing his weapon down on the demon's head with a sound like a gong. "Speaking of your past employment… any idea what these things are?"

"Not without checking," Wesley replied, gritting his teeth. "They look similar to too many other breeds…"

"So, no clue?"

Ducking under a hurled desk, the Watcher spun around, pivoting with all the grace of a teenage netball player, and thrust his sword between the eyes of another of the massive creatures, before bringing the mace down on its head.

"Well… usually, you can differentiate breeds by what kills them…"

"In this case, sod all."

Wesley shook his head, jerking a nod towards the door and receiving curt nods in response. Jumping quickly up onto the demon's downed head to allow both vampire and witch to clamber passed him and into the hall, he followed, before diving after them and pulling the door shut behind him.

With a flash of the Professor's wand, the door was locked. "That should hold them temporarily," she said, then looked at Wesley. "Now, what were you saying in there? About modes of killing them?"

"We know what _doesn't_ kill them," Wesley replied, rubbing sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "Stabbing them, using Holy water, burning them, decapitating them, hitting them, jinxing them, using holy artefacts on them… none of those things work…"

"That helps," Spike mumbled, sagging against the wall, blood oozing through his torn shirt. "You know what'd be nice? If this old place held onto them for a while for us and kept 'em in one place… how about it, eh, Hogwarts? You keep a hold of them, until we can get rid?" He patted the wall vaguely. "There's a good castle."

To his bewilderment, Minerva's mouth dropped open and Wesley's eyes widened, both of them staring at the doorway just to his right. Tilting his head slightly, he frowned, then looked back at them.

"Okay, I know I got a bump on the head in there," he noted. "But as I recall, there _was_ a door there just a minute ago…"

"There was."

"And now… there isn't."

"You asked and the castle obliged," Minerva murmured, impressed. Still, she had to add with a faint grin, "My, my, Billy… you really have upped your targets… flirting with a castle and getting results…"

Pushing off from the wall, as if burned, Spike glared at her. "Sod off," he muttered, a flattering shade of pink warming his features. He started off down the hall, turning his back on her. "C'mon, you daft cow! We'd better go and help out the others."

Leaning close to the wall, McGonagall patted the stone. "I'll make sure he comes back later," she murmured in a stage-whisper, then rushed after the snarling vampire, chuckling to herself, with Wesley in tow.

8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8

A beam of light splintered one of the candelabra hanging in the corridor, the huge circle of iron dropping down, crushing the knot of demons beneath. A torrent of water rushed along the floor sweeping them back down the way they had come.

Out of the shadows, two figures leapt onto the struggling, water-logged demons, savage hands cracking thick necks with insolent ease, before the two sodden figures strode towards the wizards defending the corridor.

Professor Vector gasped at the sight of them, her wand leaping up, but Dumbledore pushed it down. "Remus," he nodded in acknowledgement. "Angel. Welcome back."

"Sorry for the delay, Sir," Remus said. His face was more feral than usual, fangs bared and eyes yellowed. He shook his head, like a dog would shake off water, features returning to their normal appearance as he did so, then smiled ruefully. "We certainly pick out moments."

"Nothing says welcome like violence and bloodshed," the vampire added, then glanced back down the corridor, where the briefly immobilised demons were starting to rise again. "I don't think those things are dead yet. I wish they'd take a hint."

"Your young friend, Charles, seemed to believe they were immune to strong magics when they breached the school and thus far, they seem impervious to violence as well, which is proving something of a difficulty."

"Is this as far as they've got?" Lupin asked softly, pale eyes fixed on the still-twitching demons lodged under the candelabra.

Dumbledore nodded grimly. "We've held them back in this area as long as we can," he said, nodding down the corridor which lead to two common rooms. "I believe Filius and Pomona are taking care of Gryffindor tower and the Hufflepuffs."

"Buffy was heading out of the school when I saw her," Angel added. "She had Dawn and was trying to get her out of the way."

"Miss Summers is safe?" Dumbledore looked relieved. "We heard the Goddess had breached the defences along with the demons, though we can't quite understand how she managed it."

"They were both in once piece, last time I saw them," Angel said with a nod. "And everyone else scattered to take care of what they could, but if magic and violence can't kill these things, we're screwed."

"You have never seen demons like these?"

Angel was staring at them, brow creased. "That's the problem," he replied. "I've seen hundreds of the things, all like this, but every one of them can be killed a different way. Best you can do is keep them away from you for as long as possible until you find the way."

Dumbledore nodded, a small witch beside him adding a slick of oil to the floor in front of them to prevent the demons returning and attacking again. "But aside from this difficulty… what of Miss Granger and Miss Weasley and their guests?"

"All upright and indignant," Lupin said with a half-smile. "If you really want to bring out the fighting spirit of this merry band, then you ruin their day-off. They really take it badly."

"They've always been the same," Angel reached up and tore a sharp torch bracket off the wall, the metal bent outwards at the top. "Even Buffy's mom used to fight when she was needed."

"I'm amazed I have lasted this long, then," Dumbledore noted, as they started to move, intending - if possible - to drive the invaders back. "After all, I instigated her enmity with Severus and quite likely driven her to madness more than once."

"I don't know who I feel more sorry for," Remus lobbed a chair at a rising demon, looking more than a little surprised at the strength he was channelling.

"Forgetting them for a moment, you seem very much better," Dumbledore said, brows rising quizzically.

Remus smiled faintly. "You could say..."

Abruptly, he blinked, a hand rising to press to the side of his head. His eyes flicked to Dumbledore, who was touching his forehead, then onto Angel who was staring at nothing, as if listening to a sound far in the distance.

"Do you hear...?"

"Willow," Angel said weakly, grimacing. "I'm going to have to ask her not to do that again, ever."

"Pansy," Remus chuckled, then nodded to Dumbledore. "Can we?"

Dumbledore's smile turned feral and for a moment, he looked more terrifying than werewolf or vampire. "If Miss Rosenberg has a way to get these creatures out of the school, then I think we should do what she asks."

8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8

"Are you sure you're all right?"

Striding onwards, Amy beside him, Percy expression was dark. "I most certainly am," he said, the softness of his tone more frightening than the loudest shout of anger. "I am also very put out."

"That they left us behind?"

"No!" Percy exclaimed indignantly, scrubbing blood from his face with one fist, "that those bloody bastards thought they could ruin our day out and do anything to hurt my sister."

In spite of herself, Amy couldn't help smiling. "You're just like Willow, Percy," she said, reaching out to grasp his hand. "She would do anything to keep her friends safe as well."

Percy's expression softened for a moment. "You were remarkable in town," he said, his eyes lingering on Amy's face. "I've never seen magic done as you do it before."

"I-I know I'm not meant to use it..." Amy stammered. "Will this have to go on my report?"

"Stuff the report," Coming to a halt several yards from the gate of the school, Percy pulled her closer to him, his expression earnest. "I don't want you to lose that ability. I saw how you and Willow saved Hermione and I. Even if it means wandless magic, I will help you any way I can, so you can be who you are. You don't need to change. You're a _good_ witch. I don't see why we should stop you being good your way."

Amy blushed. "Thank you," she whispered.

"I'm only being honest," Percy said virtuously, though there was a pinkish hue edging his ears. "Come on. We'd better get to the school and see if there's anything we can do to help."

"Uh..."

Following his girlfriend's line of sight, Percy grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into the shadows, hidden by the statues of the winged boars, his wand finding its way into his hand.

What they had seen approached the gates moments later, reaching up and tearing them off their hinges, magic crackling in the air as the huge, twisted wreckage of wrought metal was sent careening across the ground like a tumbleweed.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God..." Amy whispered, pressing against Percy's back, eyes wide with terror.

Pressing his fingertip to his lips, he dropped his hand to cover hers, squeezing.

Stalking back and forth by the ruins of the gate, like a great, feral cat, Glory looked like she had been beaten and burnt, only recognisable by the furious voice, yelling abuse at the night sky.

"You know I couldn't come in," a voice replied from above and Amy whimpered, her fingers digging into Percy's ribs, as a broomstick swam into view, mounted by Lucius Malfoy. "I'm too well-recognised."

"You could have told me about all those itty bitty magic toys that the bitch had to play with!" Glory snarled. "She stuck a magic sword in me and made me bleed! _Me_!"

"I'm sure it was an entirely undeserved assault," Malfoy replied smoothly. "But I do trust that this little trinket will make you feel better." With a flourish, he whipped an invisibility cloak out of thin air.

"Omigod!" Amy's gasp was scalding against Percy's skin. "Dawn!" The Slayer's sister was bound tightly in cords, hovering inches above the ground, her eyes glazed and blank.

Fury crossed Percy's face. "Stay here," he hissed, then he stepped out of the bushes, all his anger behind him as he snarled, "_Avada kedavra_!"

The blast of green light crashed into Glory, knocking the Goddess tumbling onto the grass, leaving a trail of blood and soot. Percy's wand moving of its own accord, a savage curse hurled at Malfoy, who dodged, his own wand in his hand.

"Well, well... young Weasley."

Taking a hit to the shoulder, his arm going limp, Percy staggered, switching wand hands. "Let her go."

"Go where, Weasley?" Malfoy laughed then swung aside as light sizzled passed his face, the jinx leaving a rash of welts across his skin. "In case you hadn't noticed, if I release her, I have some friends waiting to take her back again." He jerked his head upwards, to a laughing group of wizards on brooms. "I don't think they would be pleased to let our key walk away."

"Or this little rat," Glory's voice came harshly from the ground, as she rose and started towards the red-haired wizard.

Percy, in desperation, fired charm after charm at her, but none had the impact that even the unused killing curse had. Malfoy's allies alighted, surrounding him, as the Goddess stalked closer.

"Enough games, little boy." Her hands shot out and there was a sickening crackle, as both arm and wand were cracked. Percy's face went white and he stumbled back a pace, hoping Amy would have the common sense to stay hidden. "I'm bored and you don't interest me." Those savage hands pressed on both sides of his head. "But I'm hungry."

"NO!" The scream was matched only by the impact of the unseen spell, like an invisible wall of pressure, knocking everyone in the clearing off their feet. "Percy!"

Struggling to his feet, blood trickling from his ears, Percy turned. Malfoy - on his feet, despite blood running from nose and ears - had staggered and grabbed Amy, her arms pinned and his wand pressing into her throat.

The third Weasley son's mind went white. All the pain in his head, his arm and the rest of his body went numb. He was walking, long, strong strides, while his mind felt like it was hovering on a cloud somewhere else.

When his uninjured fist connected with Malfoy's face, the bliss was the purest he had felt in recent memory and he pulled Amy free, kicking the wizard and hurling him to the ground.

But whatever haze of rage he was carried by was torn away as Malfoy tumbled down from the edge of the path into a hollow and uttered an utterly unearthly scream of pain, his face rising from the thorny shrubs, blood streaming from his eyes.

"Quick," Percy caught Amy's wrist and started pulling her back towards the gates, to the spot where Dawn had been hovering, but it was empty, only a couple of unconscious bodies remaining.

"There!" Amy pointed upwards. "They've got her!"

Percy whirled around to Malfoy, who was still moaning and clutching at his face, unaware that he had been abandoned. "Well," he said, an ugly smile on his face. "We have someone, at least..."

8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8

"Down!"

A hand on Hermione's head forced her to the ground, the scratch of claws against her skin making her wince, as she cast another charm to tear one of the huge school banner down, collapsing the heavy material over another demon.

Behind her, she heard rather than saw the impact of the high table, which had been pin-wheeling towards her, before Oz had leapt over from a dozen paces away. The impact caught his shoulder, flipping him over, but he was on his feet in a heartbeat.

"You good?"

Nodding, Hermione glanced at him. "You?"

Fangs glimmered by the flickering candles above them. "Told Will I'd find you," he said, his voice more of a growl than she remembered. "Says we should try to get them all in one place."

"She's very bright," Hermione felt his arm around her waist, pulling her upright, her legs wobbling more than she cared to admit. He was half-dragging her, half-carrying her backwards. "We ought to listen to her."

"Thought you'd say that," the werewolf glanced down at her.

"Daniel…"

"Oz," he said firmly.

"Yes, I mean Oz…"

He shook his head. "Don't worry about it right now," he said simply, a sharp hand gesture motioning Giles back towards the open doors as well. "When we escape, you can talk, right?"

"All right," Hermione winced, her right leg buckling under her. Apparently, it was more than just wobbling legs this time. Clutching at Oz, she felt a second arm join his, saw Giles' face swim into view, glasses askew. "Giles… where are we going?"

Green eyes met hers. "Oh don't tell me you're the only one who didn't hear…"

"Hear what?"

Oz and Giles exchanged glances. "Willow put out a call," Oz explained. "Told us to get as many of them as we can in the entrance hall."

"Well, I haven't seen her since we got separated on the second floor…"

"No, Hermione," Giles glanced behind them into the Great Hall, where the tangled demons were struggling free of their fabric bindings. "A Mental call. Her power is rather intense at the moment and she's left us all with marvellous migraines."

Allowing them to shuttle her along, Hermione grimaced. "She must have been shielding me... needs to be focused," she mumbled through clenched teeth. "I need to be beside her."

"That's what we figured," Oz noted, hurrying them both through the waiting room that lead into the vast hall. In silence, they hurried on, Hermione all but carried between the two men.

As expected, the demons gave chase, unwilling to let their targets escape from them, the flight down the stairs, over headless and limbless demons impeded by jerking and twitching torsos.

"This way!"

A shout drew their attention, a coiling spiral staircase unfolding before them, as if unravelled from the stones itself. Staggering up, the trio felt the stairs closing behind them, collapsing on a balcony above the main landing they had just raced down from.

It was already well-occupied by a dozen people, including the two vampires, McGonagall and Dumbledore himself. At the front, hands pressed to the stone rail, Willow was standing, shaking, her hair whirling in a flaming nimbus around her head.

"Hermione..." she croaked.

Uncaring of the lancing pain in her ankle, the brown-haired witch scrambled upright and moved to Willow's back, placing her hands on her lover's shoulders, daring to peek over the railing into the lobby.

"What are you..."

"Waiting," Willow's voice was quaking, her face white.

The demons that had been chasing Hermione, Giles and Oz came to a halt in the huge square chamber, which Hermione suddenly noticed did not have a single door, an impossibility as it was the main entrance hall of the whole school.

"Where did the door go?" Hermione started to ask, as Dumbledore moved alongside her, gazing down at the cavernous chamber. Her question, however, became moot as the staircase that was the only exit to other parts of the school started to bend and shift, like metal under extraordinary heat.

Under her hands, Willow was practically vibrating and she was gasping, her hands - braced on the stone - emitting an odd glow, which seemed to radiate up to encompass her whole body.

"Willow!"

"Don't let go," Willow gasped, pressing her body back against Hermione's. "Don't let..." With an echoing crack, the stairs opposite them broke away from the upper landing, utterly cutting off the demons from the rest of the school.

"Good God..." Giles whispered. "How is she...?"

"The school," Dumbledore's voice was soft, his gaze fixed now on the witch beside him. "It does not want these invaders here any more than she is. They're working together, witch and building."

"But what now?" Angel asked, peering down at the dozens of demons congregated beneath the balcony they now hung on. "We've tried killing them. There's no way it can be done."

"Didn't try hard enough..."

Angel looked like he was about to answer back when Spike's hand leapt up and grabbed his arm, the blond vampire's eyes wide, gold flaring in the iris. "D'you smell that?"

"Buffy..." the two vampires exchanged looks, then turned on Willow. "Willow, we need out of here, now!"

"No can do," Willow was shaking violently. "You go out, they go out."

"Slayer needs a hand, Red."

"Find another way, would you?" Hermione snapped. "Can't you see she can't stop this now?"

Turning on McGonagall, Spike gave her a hopeful grin. "Can you get us out, Minnie?" The witch sighed, then nodded. With a flick of her wand, both vampires rose into the air and were swept into the balcony below. "Thanks, ducks!"

"Just get a move on," McGonagall shouted after them. "There are windows in the waiting hall. I'm sure you'll be forgiven for breaking them." The two vampires sped away and Minerva turned her attention back to the red-haired witch. "I do hope they weren't needed for part of her plan."

"Xander's coming..." Willow's breathless voice trickled passed parted lips. The glow that had surrounded her now seemed to be emanating from within her, dazzling white light, as she drew on the power of the school. "He knows... and Charles..."

"The two Muggles?" McGonagall's brow rose. "Well, that shouldn't surprise me after the way things have been going."

"Charles was here," Giles explained in a hushed voice. "He said Xander was getting what they needed and would need all the demons in one place, then he rushed off to find something."

"And now, he's back!" a voice called from the balcony below them. Gunn was standing there, leaning out to look up at them, two large sacks lying at his feet. "Yo, Red, how you holding up?"

"I'm shiny," the witch replied faintly. "You get everything?"

"You know it, Red," Gunn threw a salute up at her. "Want me to start the wash-down?" Willow's chin dipped tightly and the man reached into a sack at his feet, pulling out bottles and canisters.

Immediately, he starting sloshing opaque liquid over the demons, which growled and clawed futilely at the stone round them. Whatever the liquid was, it seemed to be having no effect.

"Holy water?"

"Nuh-uh..." Willow's pale face broke into a slow grin. "We're gonna... have a barbeque..."

"But burning doesn't work!" McGonagall protested.

Willow looked on the verge of collapse, Hermione's arms keeping her upright, but turned pale, shining eyes to the teacher. "Not charmed flame," she whispered. "It's gotta be real flames. Pure flames. We've got the real thing."

"Will!"

The shout from below drew her brilliant gaze and she smiled. "Xander..."

"Fawkes!" Dumbledore gasped in sudden understanding at the sight of the phoenix perched on Xander's shoulder, the teen's hand gently stroking the golden plumage.

"Ready?" The question was thrown from Xander to Gunn.

"When you are, Xan," Gunn replied, adding a last canister of fluid.

"Will?"

"Go," the witch breathed. "Shield is up."

Xander grinned, raising an arm for Fawkes to climb onto, then held him over the pit of demons. "Fire in the hole!" he yelled, dropping behind the balustrade as Fawkes took to the air and plunged into a dive.

Halfway through the dive, the Phoenix erupted into searing, blinding white flames, smashing into the middle of the demon-trap below with the force of a bomb, the concussion blowing all the watchers off their feet.

A column of flame billowed upwards, constrained within some kind of invisible, barrier, windows on the far side of the hall bursting out as smoke and fire coiled free, the screams of the dying demons horrific to hear.

Massed together on the floor, they writhed and struggled, fighting one another and the flames as they were utterly consumed, burning with white heat, shrinking to nothing but glowing embers in a matter of heartbeats.

"Poopy..." Willow whispered. "Didn't get to use my marshmallows."

Then, she promptly collapsed back into Hermione's arms.

8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8

"Quick! Quick, place her here!"

The arms of Xander Harris and Charles Gunn carefully deposited the unconscious body of the brunette Slayer on the vacant bed. She didn't look like she was breathing and her face was whiter than the pillow she lay on.

"She was fighting Glory," Gunn elaborated quickly. "Told me to get... hey, is old Creepy down here?" Off the Matron's look, Gunn made a gesture, "Y'know. Potions guy. Did the kid get him here okay?"

"Far end of the ward," Pomfrey said briskly, shooing Xander from the side of the bed and quickly checking Faith over. "Good heavens..." Potions were quickly produced from recesses of her apron and forced down the Slayer's throat.

"She gonna be okay?"

"Mister Gunn," Pomfrey looked up, her expression quietly deadly. "I will do the best that I can, but if you are uninjured and wish to remain so, I would advise you not to distract me."

With a curt nod, Gunn moved away from the bed and wove his way up towards the bed, where the Potions professor was lying. He was unsurprised to see the kid still sitting there, watching for any sign of movement.

"Kid, you okay?"

The boy looked up, whey-faced. "So many people are hurt," he whispered.

"But we're still standing," Xander joined the older man, then glanced down at Snape. "I thought he might be conscious by now..." he mumbled, chagrined.

"You did what you had to," Gunn said, clasping Xander's shoulder. "You stay put, buddy. Make sure you keep up on everyone. I'm gonna go find Cordy and see if the old guy needs more help with the kids."

"Tell her I'll be here, when she's ready." Moving from Snape's bed, Xander wove his way up the ward as Gunn disappeared out of the chamber.

His feet carried him passed Giles, who was swearing profusely as binding linens were fixed into place on his gashed chest, and two rather stunned-looking Hufflepuffs, who were recovering from their herbology lesson.

The third bed from the door was occupied by Willow, who was as motionless as she had been when they had carried her down from her self-created balcony. The only sign that anything was affecting her were the flickers of white light still pulsing beneath her skin and the white sheen that had seeped down her once-red hair.

Beside the bed, Hermione was sitting, clutching her girlfriend's hand between her own, brown eyes locked onto Willow's face, as if just staring at her might bring her around and back to normal.

"Hey," he murmured, approaching her. "You all right?"

Hermione sniffed softly, but didn't look up. "I just want this all to have been a bad dream," she mumbled.

Reaching down, Xander rubbed her shoulders gently. "But if that happened, you wouldn't have seen Willow getting down with her bad-ass shiny witchy self," he said, relieved when Hermione hiccoughed, then giggled weakly.

"She really was amazing, wasn't she?"

"_Is_ amazing, little witch," Xander corrected. "She's still here. She's just having a nap. Saving everyone's collective asses takes a lot out of you."

"Of course..." Hermione agreed, then glanced along the ward. "What happened to Severus?"

Xander's expression tightened. "Glory. She knows what Dawn is now."

Brown eyes leapt up to his. "What about Buffy and Dawn?"

"Angel and Spike broke out to go and help her," Xander replied. "But they..."

What he was about to say was answered by the three figures entering the ward. The two in front had a limp body suspended between them, thick, dark hair trailing over Lupin's hands as he walked backwards towards one of the vacant beds.

"Sirius?" Hermione started to rise. "What happened?"

Gently depositing his friend on the sheets, Angel at Sirius' feet, Lupin turned to look at her. "From what we can make out," he said, his voice empty. "He fell off Buckbeak from a long way up. Hagrid's looking after Buckbeak."

"Buffy and Dawn...?"

Angel, his expression unreadable, nodded towards the door, where Spike was slowly picking his way in. He was carrying a small figure, his vampiric features bared, his eyes on the face of his burden.

It was Buffy and she was unconscious, blood seeping from the back of her head and staining her blonde hair.

"Oh God..." Xander groaned.

"The bitch hit her from behind," Spike grit out between clenched teeth. He looked around the busy ward and every full bed, then slowly sank to sit, gently cradling the Slayer in his arms. "Tried to brain her with a pillar."

"She's alive, right?"

"She's the sodding Slayer, you pillock!" Spike snapped. "Of course she's alive. If I couldn't kill her, what makes you think some namby-pamby Goddess could manage it?" He peered around the ward. "Oy, Pomfrey! Here! Now!"

The Matron swung around from Faith's bedside, anger in her eyes fading as she rushed over.

Sinking back into her seat, Hermione reached up to clutch Xander's hand. "She'll be all right," she said, trying hopelessly to sound certain.

"Buffy always is," Xander said blankly. "I don't get it... it was a good day and now, Willow's all glowy, Cordy's bleeding again, Buffy and Faith are hurt and the school is all smashed up. It's just not right."

"I know."

"I really, _really_ want to hit something."

"Is there any room in here for us?" Percy's voice said from the doorway. He was flanking a whimpering figure, who was trapped between him and Amy, all three of them bloodied and beaten-looking.

Hermione's mouth fell open. "Is that...?"

"Lucius Malfoy," Percy said with a cold smile.

Xander's smile was just as icy. "Looks like I get my wish."


	63. To Arms

TO ARMS

Notes: By the time I get around to posting this, I'll probably have been working on it for a couple of months. But, I do actually have a valid excuse this time :D I'm back in full-time education and working like mad. So many projects, so little time! (And hee! Goblet of Fire! I wants it on DVD, precious! I wants it to watch the graveyard scene, over and over and over. And did I mention over?)

But enough notes - writing now.

* * *

"Is that everyone?"

Dumbledore nodded gravely, not even able to look at Poppy Pomfrey as he surveyed the hospital wing. Many of the beds were occupied, with people rushing to and fro, checking up on the others. "I expect you need the rest now."

Madam Pomfrey sighed tiredly, the bright morning sunlight doing little to mask the pallor of her cheeks. Her neat clothing and perfectly-groomed hair were in a state of disarray and her hands and apron were stained with potions and blood.

"Well, I have to admit it has been some time since I needed to work on so many people," she remarked dryly. "And yet, ever since you brought this merry band to the school, I notice a distinct rise in casualties."

"I only wish I could promise it would not remain so," he said quietly.

The Matron laid a hand on his heavy sleeve in wordless comfort, before moving off, towards her office, to sit down for the first time in several long hours.

Dumbledore's expression remained sombre as he watched the woman sitting at Buffy Summers's bedside, anxiety etched on her face. Joyce Summers had been transported in as soon as was possible and despite the hours which had passed since the attack, Buffy was still unconscious.

Beside her, Rupert Giles had a hand on the woman's shoulder. As both Buffy's Watcher and a friend of her mother, he had insisted he assume the task of explaining to the elder Miss Summers precisely what had happened, both regarding the daughter in the bed before her and the one still missing.

Unsurprisingly, Joyce looked as fraught as another mother, who was seated on the opposite side of the ward.

Half a dozen of the Weasley family had reached Hogwarts almost simultaneously, when word had reached the Ministry about the assault on the school, a mass of red-hair seemingly congregated around the youngest of their number.

By her daughter's bedside, Molly was idly sponging Willow's ashen cheeks with a soft cloth, though the youngest of the Weasleys was apparently utterly oblivious to everything around her, still unconscious and shimmering unnaturally, even out of the light of the sun.

Slipping from his wife's side, leaving her in the care of her brother, Harry Potter had approached the bed where his Godfather lay and was presently staring grimly down at the older man, who was arrayed in bandages from the top of his head to his feet, bruises still visible on the parts of his face that were uncovered.

By Sirius' bed, the second Slayer was floating eerily several inches above the surface of her own bed, her dark hair trailing down and spilling across the white pillows, her eyes closed and her face as swollen and bruised as Sirius'.

"They'll be all right." Dumbledore watched Lupin stiffly rise from the chair by Sirius' bedside, vacating it for Harry with a tired smile.

"All of them?" the younger man was still staring down at his godfather's motionless face. "This kind of thing isn't meant to happen here. Not in Hogwarts."

"I know," Lupin said softly. He caught Harry's arm gently and steered him into the seat. "You look like you could use it more than me," he said by way of explanation when bewildered green eyes rose to him. "Don't worry."

Moving passed the pair, out of range of Harry's mumbled response, Dumbledore reluctantly approached the bed at the far end of the ward, which was watched over by a single person.

That person was curled up on the seat, his eyes fixed on the rigid figure on the bed. Blue eyes were dark with worry and he was gnawing anxiously on his lower lip, had been for quite some time by the look of it.

"Mister Cameron?"

The Gryffindor shot to his feet as if he had touched an electric charge, spinning around to stare up at the Head master. Like every other person in the wing, his face was pale, eyes shadowed with fatigue.

"P-Professor Dumbledore!" he exclaimed, hastily straightening his tie and trying to ineffectually smooth his robes. "I-I didnae see ye."

"Have you been sitting here all this time, Mister Cameron?" Dumbledore interrupted gently.

The boy's blue eyes lowered and he nodded. "I didnae want tae leave him on his own, in case somethin' else happened tae him," he mumbled, his right hand toying awkwardly with his left sleeve.

Given how much the boy before him disliked the Potions Professor, that in itself was commendable. Dumbledore smiled warmly, undeniably proud of the young man, and lifted a hand to lightly touch his shoulder.

"Allow me to take your place, then, Master Cameron," he said. "You look like you could do with a little respite."

Duncan nibbled his already-worried lip anxiously, looking down at the bed. "You willnae let anyone else hurt him?" he said, looking back up at the Head Master. "I dinnae think Dawnie'll be pleased if he's not waiting for her when she gets back."

"He is in the safest of hands, Mister Cameron," Dumbledore assured him, relieved that the boy had not given into grievous fear for his absent friend's situation. "Now, I would urge you to rest, while you have the chance."

Again, the boy hesitated, several steps away from the bed. "But I have my classes..."

Without thought, Dumbledore laughed softly. "I shall see to it that your absence is explained," he said. The boy nodded, turning and walking down the ward towards the doors. "Mister Cameron!" Cameron glanced over his shoulder. "You have done your house proud."

Colouring deeply, Duncan's lips tugged in a weak smile and he nodded. "Thank you, sir," he murmured.

8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8

Staggering upright, utterly disorientated, bare hands groped along the rough stone of a wall. Slats of weak, filtered daylight cut through shutters on the windows, but no door was visible in the narrow room. The only blessing seemed to be that he had been left alone in his prison.

One hand touched a face that was still lined with healing cuts, no doubt from the assault from one of the many Weasleys and the resultant tumble into the briars along the roadside.

By fortune, he was relieved that he could see the pale shapes of his hands by the dim light. So he had not been blinded as he had first feared? Perhaps they had disarmed him and locked him within the castle, but he still had his senses and his wits.

A futile attempt at apparating was denied him, confirming his initial suspicion that he was, still, being held in Hogwarts, which meant his circumstances were certainly outwith his control.

Groping his way along the wall again, Lucius felt for any hidden latch or groove that might allow him to free himself from this cell, but every inch of the wall was as smooth as the next.

Next, he occupied himself with fighting against the shutters that did an ineffectual job of shielding the room from the light of the morning, but despite his efforts, they did nothing but leave his palms scraped and raw.

Slamming his hand against the metal in frustration, he swore viciously.

"Feisty little bugger, innie?"

Jerking around, Malfoy stared wildly into the deep shadows of the room. Nothing and no one was visible there. Nothing _could_ be there! He had held his breath for as long as he could, listening, but had heard no other breathing, no other presence.

"You just couldn't keep your mouth shut, could you?" a second, deeper voice said, from the other end of the room, Malfoy turning sharply, heart pounding in a rapid staccato against his sternum.

"What can I say?" The first voice sounded like it was grinning. "I got bored."

"Who's there?" Malfoy demanded, forcing his voice to be more angry than fearful, while still trying to look to both ends of the room, turning this way and that, lest whatever it was emerge unexpectedly.

Abruptly, a cool breath rippled against his ear and he froze.

"We're friends," the first voice said, though not without a note of mockery.

Lucius whirled around in time to see a flicker of motion, but there was only the dark behind him.

"Spike." The second voice had taken on a quiet, calm, chastising note.

"Well, we are," the first voice laughed wickedly. "Just not his."

"Spike, is it?" Malfoy's eyes narrowed, but the weak light ebbing through the blinds made it impossible to focus on whoever - or whatever - was hiding in the shadows. "I expect I'm meant to be afraid of such puerile intimidation techniques."

From the shadows, there was a snort of laughter, then a figure seemed to emerge, pale and fair-haired, clad in Muggle clothing, smiling. "Nah, mate," the young man grinned, blue eyes glittering oddly. "We've not even _started_ on intimidation."

"Spike!" the second voice sounded frustrated.

"I know, I know," the blond moved lazily closer to Lucius, thumbs hooked through the loops of his jeans. He didn't do anything as casual as walk - he _swaggered_. "Talk too much, don't I? Always had that trouble."

Rolling his eyes, expression verging on bored, Lucius folded his arms imperiously over his chest and arched a brow cynically. "What do you expect to gain from boring me so thoroughly? I am hardly about to tell you anything."

The second voice, still in shadows, mumbled something that sounded like, "Why do I put up with this?"

As abruptly as the blond had appeared, a second man was several paces from Lucius' other side, taller, broader, with dark hair and dark, brooding eyes.

"Can I start?" the blond looked excitedly at the second man, ignoring Lucius' words. "I told the whelp that I'd do some damage for him." He took another couple of steps until he was an arm's length from Malfoy. "Y'know, we had to draw straws to see who would get to kick your arse, mate." He grinned all the wider. "I won."

"Cheated," the other man corrected calmly. "And yes, if you want to start."

The blond punched air gleefully, beaming. "Y'know," he said conversationally to his companion. "For a great big poof, you're not all bad." He turned his focus on Malfoy, blue eyes gleaming. "So... you."

"And what are you to begin?" Lucius sighed, every gesture one of emphatic ennui. "I suppose I am to be tortured for information? I do not expect that Dumbledore would be entirely thrilled to have blood shed on his precious school grounds."

The blond man, Spike if that was his name, laughed unpleasantly. "I don't think old Dumble would even try to stop us," he said, reaching out and tapping his forefinger at the middle of Lucius' breastbone. The offending hand was struck away, the wizard canting his chin arrogantly. "Ooh, isn't he feisty?"

"Spike."

The blond's grin only widened, blue eyes locked with grey. "I'm bored," he said and Lucius felt a cold knot of horror form in his gut as the blond's teeth lengthened into vicious fangs, eyes bleeding gold into blue. "Wanna play, Malfoy?"

8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8

"I can't believe you did that!"

"I did what I thought was necessary for your safety."

Anya whirled around, halfway to the door of Dumbledore's office, glaring at him. "I can look after myself, Albus!" she exclaimed. "I _have_ been alive a lot longer than you have! You don't need to look after me!"

Dumbledore looked chagrined, desperately trying to ignore the figures crowding into the nearest paintings for a better view of the pair. "I realise that," he said, raising his hands in submission, "But I was worried that you might be hurt."

"So you don't tell me this and just tie me up and lock me in your office?" the former demon cried, storming back across the room towards him. "You know I like to be tied up, but not when there are demons and you might get hurt too!"

Several of the occupants of the paintings squeaked and ducked out of the frames when both Dumbledore and Anya flashed a cautioning look at them.

"I didn't think this would upset you so much," the Head master said quietly.

"I'm upset that we can't do the communication thing that we're meant to do and not do dumb things and have this stupid fight!" Anya's expression crumpled. "We're both adults and we're meant to talk. That's what all the books say."

Approaching her slowly, cautiously, Dumbledore reached out and gently took one of her hands. "We can talk now, if you would like," he said, looking at her over the rims of his spectacles. "And if I may, I shouldn't have underestimated you, Anya. You are a remarkable woman and witch. I have never met anyone quite like you and I would be loathe to lose you now."

Mollified, Anya sniffed. "I guess I can forgive you," she said, then raised a finger and wagged it in front of his nose. "But next time demons come into the school or we have to have a fight, I want to help. Even _Xander_ gets to help, so I want to too."

Lifting her knuckles to his lips, Dumbledore smiled warmly. "I think you would be a delightful person to fight beside," he said. "Not simply because you are capable of insulting our enemies in their own languages."

Anya beamed at him. "It _is_ useful," she agreed, then frowned thoughtfully. "Okay. We've made up now. You've been nice and I've been accepting and forgiving like a good girlfriend should be..." Her eyes rose to Dumbledore's, her fingers winding into his beard, a coy smile creeping onto her face. "Now, we have make-up..."

"Knockity-knock!"

Swearing in one of the languages she was proficient in, Anya scowled as the office door was opened and a green face peered in. Humming viciously under her breath, she watched the face go a strange mottled shade of green-brown as awareness struck him like a sledgehammer.

"Uh... sorry, didn't mean to interrupt... uh... anything..." Lorne mumbled, averting his eyes. "Just got asked to bring you the word that the Slaybelle two is conscious, hot dog is grumbling about his bed being too hard and the littlest red is awake and still shimmering like a discoball."

The wave of relief from the Head Master was palpable, his shoulders seeming to relax from an unseen tension. "That is good news," he said, his hand clasping Anya's to him.

"Some of the visitors had to head, so I gave them quick readings before they left to make sure there was nothing nasty lurking out there," Lorne added. "And Cordy's holding the fort in class while I'm doing my courier and future-o-gram service."

"Earning your keep quite nicely, aren't you, Mister Green?" Dumbledore smiled, though was not oblivious to the way Anya was gently twisting a strand of his beard around her finger.

"Do I have another message to take?"

The Head Master glanced down at Anya, then back at the demon. "Would you be able to contact all Heads of House and have them take their students to the Great Hall in an hour?"

"Time for the big explanation, huh?"

"It is an honest necessity," Dumbledore replied. "I should be down shortly."

"Not _that_ shortly!" Anya added quickly. "We had a fight and now, we have to make up properly!"

With a salute, the demon started to withdraw. "Gotcha," he said with a wink, before closing the door.

"Where were we?" Albus's eyes twinkled.

"We," Anya rose on her toes, expression predatory. "Were making up."

In frames all around the walls of the office, almost perfectly simultaneously, figures darted out of their painting and sight, far more swiftly than any of the aged residents had right to move.

8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8

Dawn had woken up several minutes earlier. A blinding headache had kept her eyes closed until she the last things that had happened crept out from the recesses of her bruised memory; Glory, Buffy running with her, Sirius swearing, Buckbeak falling out from beneath them, then blackness.

Her heart pounding, her hands spread on the surface of whatever she was lying on. It felt like a bed, but the blankets felt real expensive. The room smelled weird as well and not in the good Hogwartsy way.

She went rigid when a feminine voice breathed in her ear, "Don't move suddenly, little one. We are, both of us, being watched." A cool palm touched her wrist. "If you fight, you may be restrained and hurt. Remain calm. You are safe."

The voice was familiar and she hastily searched her memory, recognition crashing in on her with unexpected swiftness. "Mrs Malfoy?" she whispered faintly, her stomach knotting, lips barely moving.

"Yes," the response was soft. "I'm afraid it's me again. Don't worry, little one. I'm here to look after you."

Slowly opening her eyes, Dawn squinted up at the dark canopy above her, then tilted her head. Beside the bed, Narcissa Malfoy was apparently kneeling on the floor, a cool sponge held in her hand, looking older and more fraught than she had last time Dawn had seen her.

"Are you hurt at all?" the golden-haired woman asked, a flick of her eyes indicating in which direction their assailants were.

Shaking her head, Dawn lifted a hand to cover her face. "No," She grimaced as her stiff body stretched out. "Just kinda crampy and sore heady." Glancing warily in the direction Mrs Malfoy had, she saw a small, scabby-looking demon in a cloak hovering by the door. "Uh... I guess I'm in trouble."

"You've been given into my keeping until the time comes for the ritual," Narcissa replied, kneeling up and helped her to sit up. "I am to ensure you are comfortable, fed and rested."

"After last time?"

Mrs Malfoy's smile was mirthless. "Unfortunately, my husband and his companion no longer feel they can trust me," she replied softly. "We are to be prisoners together, Miss Summers."

Dawn stared at her, then glared at the demon by the door. "This totally sucks for you," she said vehemently. "Locking you up just because your husband got all groiny with a big Goddess ho isn't fair."

To her surprise, Narcissa laughed softly, sadly. "Things could be so much worse."

"Worse than being locked up by your husband and his skanky girlfriend?" Dawn stared at her in disbelief.

Narcissa nodded gravely. "At least I have my mind still intact, Miss Summers," she said, reaching up to smooth long strands of Dawn's hair back from her face. "You, too, could be in far more trouble than you presently are." She nodded towards a table that stood on the far side of the room. "Come and eat. You must be famished."

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing as Narcissa rose, Dawn staggered slightly at the renewed use of legs that seemed to be recovering from some weird kind of numbness.

"At least we get food, right?"

"They would most displeased if I let you starve," Narcissa agreed, helping her over and letting her sit. Before her, the table was piled with all kinds of breakfast goodies, including her favourite pastries which she had been introduced to at Hogwarts.

Snatching up several pieces, Dawn bit into them hungrily, sugar and jam smearing around her mouth and reached for one of the elegant cups, slurping down hot, sweet tea, her stomach making sounds of relief.

"Buffy's gonna be so mad about this," she mumbled around a mouthful.

"I'm sure she and her compatriots will be doing what they can to liberate you."

The lack of conviction on Narcissa's face made Dawn frown. "You've never met my sister, Mrs Malfoy," she said with fierce pride. "Buffy'll do everything to stop Glory." She hesitated, reaching down and patting her pockets to check if they might have escape emptying, a thoughtful look crossing her face. "But if she can't, there's gotta be some way..."

Unfortunately, her quick examination of her clothing indicated that she had, indeed, been stripped of anything that might be useful, including her extensive collection of potions equiptment. Scowling and muttering rude things about anyone who fought her sister, Dawn turned her focus back to her meal.

"It has to be Tuesday..." she mumbled to no one in particular, after several minutes lost in thought.

"Pardon?"

Dawn smiled without humour. "Just something my sister always tells me when I get in trouble," she replied, taking another mouthful of tea. "So... you got any more of those portkey necklaces around in here?"

"I'm afraid not," Narcissa replied. "I no longer even have access to my wand."

"So no owls either, huh? No way to write a 'help, I want to be rescued' notes and get them to anyone?" Narcissa shook her head apologetically. Dawn's nose wrinkled. "I hate being a prisoner," she decided aloud. For a few moments, she was silent and when next she spoke, her voice had a nervous quiver to it. "What happens now? Do I just sit here and wait for them to take me away and cut me up?"

"There is little that we can do or even consider, I am afraid," Mrs Malfoy replied quietly, with a significant look towards the demon which was watching them with a suspicious look on its bumpy face.

"Yay for guard demons. I'm hate those guys!"

"They are certainly sickening little creatures," the witch said with a wry smile. "So, I am afraid you and I will simply have to manage to keep one another entertained."

A thoughtful look crossed Dawn's face. The girl was apparently distracted by something that Narcissa had just said, her brows pulling together even as her sugary mouth started to curl up.

Suddenly, the pastry fell from her hand and she doubled up, contorted as if she were in great pain, causing Narcissa to leap up in alarm. "Miss Summers?"

"Oooooooooooh..." the teenager moaned, flopping sideways off the seat into the horrified Mrs Malfoy's arms, half-crumpled on the floor. "Oooooooooh, I feel so baaaaaaaaaad..." she groaned, clutching at Narcissa's arms. "Oooo..."

Gathering the girl up clumsily, Narcissa placed a cool hand on her forehead, but felt no fever, nor could she see any flushing of the child's face. "What's wrong, little one? Are you in pain?"

Blue eyes met blue, obscured by their half-kneeling, half-sitting bodies, and Dawn gave her a smirk and the barest of winks, then started thrashing, as though she were having some kind of seizure.

Unsurprisingly, their demon guard scuttled over. "Is the Key damaged?" it gabbled, peering anxiously over Narcissa's shoulder.

"Feel so bad..." Dawn whimpered, making convincing retching noises that made the demon back away uncomfortably.

"The luminous one must know!" the demon squealed frantically and dashed for the door, leaving the teen half-sagged in Narcissa's arms, her contortions halting the instant the door closed behind the demon.

"Hey! It worked!"

"Might I know what's going on?" the witch inquired coolly.

Dawn, tilting her head to keep an eye on the door, spoke quickly. "You said those demony thingies were sickening," she said. "We gotta find some way to get word out and to get stuff in. If they think I'm real sick, they'll have to listen to us, right? They don't wanna have me dying." She grinned. "And I got rid of stinky demon guard guy."

Narcissa's brows lifted and she smiled for the first time since Dawn had woken. "My dear, I have the strangest suspicion you were born to be a Slytherin," she murmured.

"Cranky britches'd love to hear that," Dawn wrinkled her nose, then leaned back out of sight of the door, her voice little more than a whisper. "I'll play real sick as long as I can," she added quickly. "Can you get paper off 'em so I can write what... uh... 'medicine' I need from home? And get some way to give it to Buffy?"

"I'm certain I can accomplish that." Narcissa nodded, glancing over her shoulder as the door-handle squealed. "After all, we are both blessed with an intellect far superior to that hussy."

As the door pushed open, Dawn let her body go limp, tilting her head to hide the utterly malicious smirk that was pulling at her lips.

Above her, Narcissa Malfoy turned on the demons in the door way, cradling Dawn's head as if it were a fragile treasure. "What the devil do you think you're doing?" she demanded savagely. "Can't you see the Key has taken ill, you cretins? Help me!"

Scuttling forward, the quartet of demons obeyed as if Glory herself had spoken and as she rose and stared imperiously down at them, Narcissa felt the strangest of flutters of nervous hope that this might, unbelievably, work.

8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.

"How are you feeling, love?"

Willow's heavy eyes opened a little. Even her lashes were tinted with flecks of white. "Kinda sleepy, mom," she murmured, but smiled vaguely. "But I'm all shiny... that's new..."

"It is," Molly sounded like she was going to laugh and cry at the same time. "I heard what you did."

"Broke the stairs... Professor Dumbledore'll be cranky..."

"Oh, I doubt it," Arthur said, clasping Willow's other hand proudly between his. "I think he wants to give you an Order of Merlin for what you did to protect the school from those creatures."

"Pff..." Willow snorted, too tired and too embarrassed to form a coherent word.

"At least he's not kicking you out," Ginny put in. She was sitting at the foot of her sister's bed, her eyes still red-rimmed. "Wouldn't blame him if he did, what with you breaking everything you touch."

"Ginny!"

Willow giggled faintly. "Someone had to say it, mom," she murmured. "Since Ron couldn't come and be mean." She tilted her head and looked down the ward. "Did Harry come and see Sirius?"

"He was here earlier," Ginny replied amiably, patting Willow's blanketed foot. "You were still being a lazy cow, though, so he left after kicking Sirius for giving him a fright again."

"F'I could, I'd kick him too," Willow's eyes were drifting closed again. "For being dumb enough..." She yawned drowsily. "To fall off his flying... thingie..."

"I heard that!" Sirius called over. Willow's lips turned up and she blandly wiggled her fingers in his direction. "Hey! I did not fall, thank you _very_ much! Flying thingie was cursed! I fell a hundred feet! Some sympathy would be nice!"

"Ha!" Faith exclaimed from the next bed.

"Don't start with me," the animagus pointed a finger at her. "_You_ didn't fall over a hundred feet."

"Baby, you ain't gonna get any sympathy from the babe with the shattered spine and you know it."

Sirius made a face utterly unbecoming of an adult. "Pah. Shattered spine? Try all broken limbs, you pansy."

Faith - settled comfortably on her mattress of air, hovering several centimetres above the surface of her bed - smiled serenely at the ceiling. "Black, my back ain't gonna be broke forever."

"Um... bugger."

Their audience of Weasleys watched with amusement as Sirius - decked to the neck with bandages - managed to shuffle sideways on his bed, directing pleading looks at the dark-haired Slayer, who flipped the bird at him.

"Such a charming couple," Ginny observed dryly.

"Mm," Willow acknowledged, frowning when her eyelashes crackled with pale sparks when she blinked. "Huh... still sparky..." She giggled weakly. "Look, dad... I'm electric."

Arthur's smile was muted and he covered her hand with his own, squeezing gently, as her eyes fell shut again. Her parents exchanged looks significant enough for Ginny to carefully rise and edge away from.

A solitary figure standing by the window, several paces away drew her attention.

"How are you getting on?"

Hermione looked around, biting anxiously on a nail that looked like it had already been chewed ragged. "Oh, I'm fine!" she said, her voice a little too shrill and hasty. "I wasn't injured at all."

Ginny raised her brows dubiously.

"Oh, all right, I'm worried sick!" the other witch exclaimed in a hiss. "Not only are numerous people badly injured, but Willow has done something to herself that might not be fixable."

"You mean bonding with the school itself?" Ginny sat on the edge of the windowsill, looking up at Hermione seriously. "What? You thought I didn't listen to the serious conversations when they're about my twin sister?"

Hermione exhaled and hastily rubbed her face. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

"Just because we're not here all the time doesn't mean we don't care about what's going on," Ginny said quietly. "You know the Order is still on call, especially now, with that Goddess-thing on the loose."

"Of course," Hermione nodded. "I... I just never expected to see this kind of mess, _here_ of all places."

Ginny looked around the bustling ward. On his bed, Sirius looked like he was trying to edge out of Faith's line of sight, while further down, Giles was watching over Buffy and between the beds, numerous walking wounded were checking on friends.

"No one died," she said. "In spite of everything, everyone survived." A freckled hand touched Hermione's, squeezing her fingers. "We'll get by and beat this. We're too stubborn not to."

"Because the Weasleys are involved now?"

"Too bloody right!" the red head beamed.

"And I think that the Goddess made a bit of a mistake," a third voice interrupted, both girls looking around to see Percy standing shy of them. His face was still swollen and his hands scratched, but he was looking more calmly resolute than either of them had ever seen. "After all, while she failed in killing anyone, she was resoundingly successful at pissing us all the hell off."

"That's my brother," Ginny said, grinning, then turned her gaze back to Hermione. "And don't worry about Willow, Hermione. Hogwarts isn't a bad thing to have as your magical back-up. I don't think it would let her be damaged."

"She's just worn out," Percy added reassuringly. "Channelling as much power through her body alone has left her a bit drained, but she'll be fine. Amy is the same and she barely touched on what Willow accomplished."

Hermione glanced over at the bed that her lover presently occupied and the bright corona glowing about it. "Yes," she said weakly, "but I never thought I'd see the day that Willow replaced my bedside lamp."

8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8

It seemed that every minute had crawled by through Joyce's vigil at her daughter's bedside. Any tears she had left were scorched away by the fierce hate she felt for the creature who had hurt both her children so much.

Night had come, the ward silent, although around each bed, people sat, watching, waiting. More than once, the visitors fell asleep where they sat, pillowing themselves on the edge of the beds of their friends, but no one was willing nor ready to depart.

When Giles had suggested she rest for a while, Joyce had turned on him like a tigress and said in no uncertain terms that she did not intend to leave her daughter's bedside and nor would she until either Buffy woke or all the black coffee in the near vicinity had run dry.

She had seen the quiet respect in his eyes the moment before she had turned back to the bed, clasping Buffy's still hands between her own. He had touched her shoulder once, then moved away to check on the other patients.

Several hours must have passed, judging by the angle of the moon and the faint hues of light beginning to touch the sky, when she felt the hand in hers twitch, her heart leaping with sudden hope.

"Buffy? Buffy, can you hear me?"

In the silence of the ward, her voice sounded like a thunderclap, but she didn't care, ignoring the faces turning in her direction. Stroking the back of her daughter's hand, she felt the fingers flex against her other palm in wordless response.

"Buffy, it's mom, sweetie," she said softly, pulling her chair closer. "I'm here." The Slayer's lips trembled as if she were trying to speak, her eyelashes shivering against her cheekbones. "That's it, honey. Come back to us."

"... mom...?"

"I'm here, honey. I'm here," Gently smoothing loose strands of hair back from her daughter's cheeks, the rest bound beneath bandages, Joyce's smile was tremulous, but grew stronger as Buffy's eyes flickered slowly open. "Hey, sleepyhead."

"Mm." Hazel eyes focussed hesitantly on her mother's face, Buffy's brows drawing together in clear confusion. "You're here?"

"I heard you were all causing Professor Dumbledore all kinds of trouble," the mock-chastisement in her voice was countered by the warm kiss she pressed to the back of Buffy's hand. "I thought I better come and be momly to help."

Buffy's lips curled up, then she winced. "My head..."

"Met a bloody great rock, Slayer," Spike's voice drifted down from behind Joyce. "I thought you'd learned your lesson about running in heels." The vampire appeared by Joyce, peering over her shoulder. "You all right?" A faint nod was all she could manage. "Better than nothing, I s'pose."

"You could wait until she can hit you before you make her mad," Xander moved closer and sat down on the opposite side of the bed, reaching out to cover Buffy's hand with his own. "Hey, you."

The Slayer's lips tugged up. "Hey. You...?"

"I'm good, Buff," the dark-haired young man smiled, though it didn't quite hide the lines of worry and fatigue around his eyes. "You had us all worried there." He half-laughed into a strange choked off sound. "Didn't know if you were gonna wake up."

Slipping her hand from under his, Buffy patted his fingertips. "I'm up now," she murmured, though her eyes sank closed as she whispered it.

"Yeah," Xander turned his hand under hers and squeezed her fingers. "Can't keep the Buffster down."

"Mmm-hmm."

As quietly as she had woken from deep unconsciousness, her body seemed to relax and she faded back into sleep, her hand slipping from Xander's to rest on the blanket that covered her body.

Joyce stifled a quiet sound, one hand pressed to her mouth. Promptly, Spike pressed his hands to her shoulders, squeezing comfortingly.

"She'll be up and about in no time, luv," he said softly. "She's a tough one to keep down, that one."

"I know," Joyce's voice cracked. "But she's still my little girl and we don't even know if Dawn..."

"She'll be all right and all," Spike interrupted sharply. "The niblet is made of strong stuff. She'll be back and causing trouble in no time." He squeezed Joyce's shoulders again. "Me and the poof had a chat with one of the blokes who was after her. She's safe and we've got plenty of time to get her back."

Brown eyes lifted from Buffy's face. "When you say 'chat'...?" Xander's voice was casual, but his eyes were ice-hard.

Spike's mouth curved in a lazy smirk. "I think I might have done a bit more than you asked me to, mate," he said. "The great poofini gave me a hand with it as well. Hope that's not a problem."

Blue eyes met brown and held for a heartbeat, then Xander nodded. "I guess I can cope," he said with a cold smile.

"So Dawn _is_ safe?" Joyce looked from one to the other.

"For the time being, yeah," Spike smiled down at the woman, who clasped one of his hands tightly. "They'll be keeping her protected and snug as a bug in a rug. Can't afford to damage her for a couple of months at least."

"And by then, we intend to have found her and brought her back," Giles spoke, making them turn. His return to the wing had gone unnoticed by the group at the bed and he was looking down at Buffy, relief marked on his face.

"In some kind of sparkly magic way, I bet," Xander added, throwing a smile across at Joyce. "You gotta see what they can do here, Mrs Summers. Dawnie'll be back before you can blink."

Unseen by Joyce, Giles and Spike exchanged glances, both of them knowing well that getting Dawn back was going to be much more difficult than any of them could dare imagine, but neither of them - in that moment - would have breathed a word of argument to the Slayer's mother.

8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8

Quite how long he had been seated at Severus' bedside, throughout the course of the two days since the assault on the school, Dumbledore could not be certain.

He had left Snape in Giles' charge briefly, when he had gone to assure the staff and students that further measures were in place and that the school was, once more, as safe as it could be.

Alas, that the truth was that with Dawn in Glory's possession, the only reason for the assaults on Hogwarts was gone.

However, with the Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts classes both cancelled indefinitely, it was hardly unexpected that rumours and whispers had begun, mutters of deaths on the staff, which would only have lead to panic and hysteria.

The calming reassurances had become necessary to stifle the whispers and despite their somewhat inaccurate wording. With all but a handful of the staff present, it presented a fragile facade that all was as it ought to be once more.

This was why he found himself seated, once more, at Severus' bedside, hands steepled before him, weary blue eyes resting on Severus' still features for any sign of awareness. Around him, the pale walls and ceiling of the medical wing painted in bloody hues by the sinking sun.

Poppy had informed him that Snape had regained consciousness during the first day, but had required immediate sedation. Lost in his own mind, his raw cries had been causing distress to the other patients and physical damage to himself. The potion that had been administered had subdued him, but now, he lay inert and in something akin to a stupor, eyes wandering vacantly.

Bound to the bed now, near-transparent bands of light bound over his torso and limbs, Snape's sallow face was even paler than usual. There were still faint traces of blood and bruising one his face and one of his hands was wrapped tightly in bandages, but aside from that, he appeared uninjured.

Speaking to him had received no response, nor had shaking him or trying to rouse him with any charm or potion. To all intents and purposes, when Poppy's potion had worn off, Snape's mind had not returned. It was as Dumbledore had feared from the moment he had seen Severus lying in the wing.

Rubbing one long finger along his crooked nose, the Head Master frowned.

It was true the Goddess had sapped a great deal of the man's mental awareness, but did that mean she had entirely ripped his consciousness away from himself?

There were way, ways and means, by which he could know Severus' mind, breaking through to what was left in the hopes he might be able to retrieve him. Yet, even now, he knew he was still tentative about breaching those mental walls which Severus had so painstakingly cultivated.

After all, it was one matter to simply glance at the surface of a man's soul and mind to know him, but quite another to smash through boundaries that shielded the most personal and private of lives.

If it were to save the man, surely it would be beneficial, yet it was a risk, dangerous for both of them. Even looking deeper than the surface of the mind meant a risk of forcing too hard to break through and damaging too greatly. What was left of Snape might come undone by his hand.

He sighed, frowning.

If only Severus had not kept so much of himself locked away so tightly under his own control. Yes, it was a strength under certain circumstances, but it was also an undeniable weakness, his inability to trust and allow people to protect him as he protected them.

Letting his gaze wander the younger man's face, the crease in his brow deepened and he knew that Severus would not have any doubts about what he must do, Severus who was always so fiercely determined and stubbornly resolute, even in the face of death.

Muttering something that he would not have let his pupils hear, Dumbledore rose and leaned over the bed, one hand tilting Severus' face towards him. Snape's pale lips were moving erratically, soundlessly, his eyes roaming everywhere, but every other feature appeared to have been carved from marble.

Sinking to sit on the edge of the bed, Dumbledore bent over the younger man, drawing a quiet breath before forcing his eyes to catch Snape's as they darted this way and that.

Almost instantly, he felt something like a mental push, a bolt of pressure between his eyes, and jerked back, knowing he had touched on Severus' defences and, even in his present state, they were holding fast.

As the reddish hue seeped from the walls, Dumbledore rose from the bed with a heavy heart, approaching the window to watch the fading glow of the sunset over the lake and grounds.

He had hoped against hope he might be able to find some solution, to seek a cure for the blight the Goddess placed on all her victims, but Severus' mind was too complex and carefully closed to break through.

Behind him, the ward was still buzzing with the quiet hum of conversations at half-a-dozen bedsides. Reflected in the glass, he could see the vague images of the patients and their visitors, the atmosphere calmer than it had been only hours earlier, but still far from the normal state.

Laying his palm against the cool glass, he was watching misty condensation form around his fingers, lost in thought, when he heard the faintest of whispers behind him;

"Sir..."

Whirling around, as if struck, Albus stared down at Severus in shock. The Potions Professor's eyes were no longer wandering absently, but were focussed intently on a single spot on the ceiling.

"Severus?"

Those eyes flickered and when the pale, taut lips moved, the words that escaped them were clumsy, hesitant, "Head Master?"

"I'm here, Severus," Moving swiftly to the bed, Dumbledore sat upon the edge. "Can you look at me?"

"No time," The tightly-spoken words were laced with pain. "She's calling me. Us."

"Us?"

Snape's hands tensed and quivered by his sides. "Takes our minds," he whispered, his body tensing. "Puts a little of herself in. Knew you would look. Hid what was left of myself. Waited." A hiss of pain escaped him. "Release us... follow us, Head Master... all of us."

"The rest of her victims?"

Snape's chin jerked down. "She's waiting," he choked out. "We will go to... to her... to the place... where it must happen... in a month... release us..." A shudder wracked his body, but his words were savage in their vehemence. "_Follow us_!"

"You will guide us?" Severus' chin jerked down once more, his body arching beneath the bonds, then he simply seemed to sag beneath them, jaw slack and eyes slipping out of focus once more. "Severus?"

But the figure recumbent on the bed said nothing more.

8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8

Five days had passed since she had become the keeper of the Key.

Five days had crawled by since Dawn had assumed the appearance and manner of someone near dying, spending almost every hour of every day feigning sleep in the large bed.

Five days, in which they had seen neither hide nor hair of the woman who kept them prisoner in Narcissa's own home of twenty-five years.

Yet, it was maintained, with the appearance that Dawn was weakening by the day.

The benefit of this ruse was that the demon minions of Glory had come under some small measure of influence of Narcissa Malfoy, all of them doing their utmost to preserve the existence of the Key.

It seemed, however, that Glory had not been told, lest this... fault be laid on them.

However, it was near twilight on the fifth night when the door swung open and the red-garbed Goddess strode into the room, flanked by the worried gaggle of demons, each of whom was vying to be closest yet not quite close enough to be accosted.

By the beside, Narcissa looked around. She looked fatigued and had taken great pains to appear so, her hair scraped back in a severe knot, her face free of cosmetics and her fingertips stained with ink from the garbled scribbles she was etching on parchment before her.

"What's this I hear about my Key?"

Rising with sudden swiftness, Narcissa stalked closer to the Goddess. "Quiet! Would you make her worse with your screeching?" she growled softly, blue eyes narrowed to icy slashes.

Glory stared at her in surprise. "Pumpkin, I wouldn't be rude to me," she said coldly. "You wanna remember what happened to your poor little boy when he answered me back."

"Was my son holding the solution to curing your wretched little Key of the malady that has taken hold of her body?" Narcissa countered sharply, though there was no disguising the sudden tenseness in her face.

Glory's expression altered instantly. "It's broken?"

"_It_," Narcissa looked back towards the bed significantly. "Is ill. Apparently, it has frequently been so and depends on medicines the Slayer always carries to maintain this false life the Key has claimed."

"I'm gonna squash that little girl like a bug," The Goddess expression was ugly, vicious, bestial. "She messes everything up for me and now she's broken my Key and got my Luce all locked up."

Narcissa's face went white. "Lucius did not return from the assault on the school?"

"Dumbass got himself caught," Glory grumbled. "He's my organisation guy and now, all I have are..." she gestured to the demons huddled close to her. "These guys totally suck at the stuff Luce was doing." She waved dismissively. "But you said you can make my Key work better?"

Her expression glacial, Narcissa nodded. "Allow me to send a brief letter to the Slayer," she said, carefully masking the uneasy tremor in her tone. "I will explain what the matter is and I have no doubts she will wish to help us to preserve this false sister's life."

Blue-green eyes held hers, narrowing slightly. "Oh no you don't, sweetpea," Glory murmured. "Just because I go a little crazy when I'm hungry doesn't mean I'm totally dumb. You'll send secret messages to her again and try to stop me using my Key."

Narcissa's expression was wounded. "If you would write to her, then," she said. "All I want is to finish this. Once you and the Key are finished here, my life can return to what it was."

Again, those unsettling eyes surveyed the witch. "Okay... I'll write and you do whatever and we'll get the stuff to fix my key."

Narcissa turned and walked back towards the bed, trying to mask the smile that caught her lips. "I have items that the Key will need. Can you send them also? The Slayer will be able to provide the ingredients for the medicines."

"Sure... sure..." Glory's heels clattered away, then halted, apparently in the doorframe, judging by the stretching shadow that touched the edge of the bed. "Hey, you think I could get my Luce back?"

The witch's back stiffened, but she shook her head. "They know how valuable he is to you," she said quietly. "I do not believe they would release him."

"Yeah..." Glory tapped her heel on the stone floor a couple of times. "Unless I gave 'em a real good reason..." The witch glanced over her shoulder, a cold knot forming in her gut at the gleeful expression on the Goddess's face. "Then they'd have to give him back, right?"

"What manner of reason would make them think so?" Narcissa murmured uneasily.

Glory beamed at her. "You just look after my Key, poodle," she said cheerfully. "I'll find my good reason, then get a letter for the Slayer and those scribbles of yours and then I'll go and get the medicine and get my Luce back."

The door closed over with a dull squeal, two demons remaining inside the room with the prisoners, and Narcissa sagged down into the seat by the bed.

One of Dawn's eyes cracked half-open. "What did she mean 'a good reason'?" she mouthed at the woman by the bed.

Narcissa shook her head slightly, uncertain. "I don't know," she whispered, leaning down to straighten Dawn's pillow to mask the conversation. "But I suspect that it's unlikely to be beneficial to anyone save her."

The girl nodded, a tight jerk of her head. "We have to finish," she hissed between her teeth, uncurling her hand and pressing two fingers down on the bedspread.

Lifting the quill once more, Narcissa jerked her chin half a centimetre. Dawn's hand unfurled and she indicated a number on the bedspread with a hand that twitched and spasmed irregularly. The quill moved, the witch's eyes darting to Dawn's face.

Feigning another attack of some kind or other, Dawn tossed and turned under the cover and spat out a single word; "Duncan!"

And Narcissa Malfoy carefully added it to the random pattern of words that were gradually spreading across the page.


	64. The Mad Leading the Blind

THE MAD LEADING THE BLIND

Notes: So much happening, so little time! Dozens of projects due for different classes and am simultaneously writing my first essay in 2 years (Hee! I'm being obnoxiously loquacious :D)

And that note was from nearly one year ago. Shame on me. Mind you, hospitalisation, funerals, college and travel have occupied me, so... well... been busy.

Since the residents from Sunnydale were stretching themselves to exhaustion with training, research and watch-duties, Albus had ensured that a constant rotation of loyal allies were keeping an eye on Severus and the rest of Glory's victims.

Three days after the attack on the school, it had become necessary to transfer Snape to Saint Mungo's on the Head Master's order. No one but Dumbledore knew of Snape's brief moment of coherence, so such a move had roused anger in those who counted Severus as friend and ally.

Young Miss Summers had foregone her physically punishing training to stop them from unbinding him, snapping that if they took him out of the school, how were they meant to protect him? The fire in her eyes had only been dampened by Giles' calming words and her own exhaustion.

Even the healed Black had been subdued about the matter, which had made Dumbledore hesitate, but it was necessary, remembering what had been said to him in that fleeting instant.

Only Dumbledore's authority had ensured that the transfer continued as planned, with members of the Order of the Phoenix serving as guard for him and the others, waiting for word from the Head Master.

It was not without distress that they would sit by his bedside as he strained against bonds that were both magical and physical. To see the one of their number who was the height of restraint, when it came to his physical and emotional state, reduced to an incoherent, babbling ruin of a man with nothing but scraps of cognization left.

To know that he was not the only one suffering such a malady was a source of trepidation and consternation. The knowledge that this torment had been laid upon others, their sanity stripped away from them, with no known cure and knowing it could happen to anyone that the Goddess chose to attack had sent ripples of fear throughout the wizarding community as a whole.

And to know that they had no idea where she was and might strike next was the greatest terror of all.

8.8.8.8.8

Seated at the desk, Glory eyed the blonde witch suspiciously. "You sure she's still as sick as your making out, sweetcheeks?"

Narcissa Malfoy nodded stiffly. "Of course I am," she said. They were in her husband's private study and that bitch of a demon was occupying her husband's chair as if it was her right, and that made her teeth clench together in silent loathing.

"But here's the thing, poodle," Glory said, tapping the nail file against the edge of the desk. "I have my little pets peeking in on you now and then, and... well... they think she might be kinda sorta faking."

"If I may speak freely," Narcissa assumed the charming tone best used for appealing to officials, ministers and other such idiots. "Your creatures are neither familiar with human nor key-related behaviour. If they were, I'm sure they would be able to see that it is quite clear that the fever comes and goes, and she has continuous relapses."

"Also called 'jerking my chain'." Glory brought the file down with enough force to split the oak. "I'm kinda wondering what I should do with you, since you keep on lying to my face and your sweet little husband left me here with no one to protect you..."

Narcissa forced herself not to step backwards. "You can take your chances and do damage to me," she snapped, raising her chin imperiously. "But if you want to risk your Key, I would suggest that we continue with the plan to retrieve her medicines. Unless you want to remain here."

Blue-green eyes gleamed, as if the show of temper had proved a point. "You got it, poodle," Glory said, slowly smiling.

Behind Narcissa, the door opened and someone was flung to the floor, by her feet. She fought the impulse to turn and look down, ignoring the reek of the little demons and the rustle of their robes.

"Y'see," Glory said, standing up on the other side of the desk. "My little faithful ones here are good to me, and found me a whole party of Mugwits or Huggles or whatever you wanna call them, and some little hero rushed in and tried to save the day." She approached them and kicked the person at Narcissa's feet. "Kind of dumb, but he's one of those army of red-haired ones. Gotta be useful for something, right?"

A Weasley. It had to be.

"I was just gonna suck him dry, but now you're sure that my Key isn't faking this whole sickness-thing, I'm pretty sure we can use him to get what you need.

Narcissa dared a disinterested glance down. He couldn't look back, if he wanted to. His face was battered and bruised, barely recognisable, but the clothes gave him away, and the hair was undeniably Weasley-ish.

"Yes," she said, looking back at Glory's face with a sniff. "Despite the delay, I suppose he will be sufficient."

8.8.8.8.8

It was raining, and the field was bleak an empty.

Wrapped in a cloak, Buffy stared blindly ahead of her, while her companions stood several yards behind her.

The letters had come by owl two days earlier, and it looked like Glory had been watching far too many ransom films. It was just a good thing that she'd only cut off a chunk of hair, instead of other parts.

One of the letters was clearly from her, but the other had made Buffy stop and sit down, and remember a time when she and Dawn had decided to be secret agents. It had been an adventure that had lasted all of a week, after the first time their mom had shown them a James Bond movie. Or after they had sneaked in to watch one when mom thought they were both asleep.

She had taken a notebook, and she had managed to make sense of the letter, and laughed until she was almost crying with relief, then immediately got Spike and the ever-present Duncan to raid Dawn's chest of magic-potion-things to put together the list that was hidden in the letter.

Duncan had stared at her, and told her he thought he knew what Dawn was doing. It made sense, in the way that only someone who knew Dawn's crazy, wacky brain could make sense, and she had nodded. Dawnie was sneaky that way.

That's why they were waiting on the edge of the field, waiting for...

"God, this country sucks!"

Buffy stepped forward. "Glory."

The Goddess grinned at her, her two demons flanking her. "Hey! Look at you! All upright. How's that working for you?"

"Where's Fred?"

"You mean the little red-haired hero?" Glory smiled, pushing wet curls back from her cheeks. "You think I'd be dumb enough to bring him along? Oh, sweetie, don't let the colouring fool you." A manicured hand was extended. "Give me the stuff."

Buffy stopped Spike with a gesture. "How do we know he's alive?"

Glory smiled. "You wanna risk not getting him back? Gimme it."

"It still has to be mixed up," Buffy said quietly, as Spike approached and handed the packed box to Glory. "You have a witch there, right? She should be able to do it, but it could kill her."

Glory waved a dismissive hand. "She was bugging me anyway," she said, hugging the box to her. "And you gonna give me back my little guy?" She beamed as Malfoy was kicked forward by Angel. He limped to her side, throwing a malevolent look back at them. "I think we're all peachy here."

"What about Fred?"

Glory gave her a cool look. "If the magic potion works, you'll get him back."

"Why should we believe it?"

The Goddess laughed. "Lemme put it another way, k? What choice have you got?" Her hand caught her demon by the hair, and Lucius clung onto her. They vanished, as Spike and Giles both cursed.

"Portkey." McGonagall said tightly. "She's grown quite attached to them."

"And we don't have Fred," Buffy's voice was tight. "Or Dawn. Or anything."

Giles exhaled. "If the potion does what it's meant to..."

"Giles, it'll take a _month_ at least." Buffy wiped at her face with a hand. At least it was raining. Hid anything else that might be soaking her cheeks. "She did it again. All we can do is wait for it."

8.8.8.8.8

"Do you really think you should be…" Dazzling white eyes flicked up to Hermione from the books and she squinted, turning away. "I just mean you're tiring yourself out, Willow."

Seated at a broad table behind a pile of books that had just started flickering with the same glowing energy as she was, Willow shook her head. "I need to find something to stop her," she said faintly. "Mom... she won't stop crying... George is going crazy..."

"But you're exerting…"

Willow's eyes flickered and she swayed, covering them with her palm. "Sweetie… I-I have to do this. We don't have time look through everything and I… the castle'll help me…"

"The library _is_ too extensive for us to search it all any other way." At the end of the table, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce ran a hand over his face. His chin was dusted with stubble and his eyes were shadowed with exhaustion. "All we have found in weeks of searching is that this Goddess has a vessel that is shields her and that she can drain minds…"

"And that she's got a mean right hook," Faith added. She had joined them from the training room, where Buffy was still beating up any inanimate object that got in her way. "Bitch can't be taken out by normal weapons."

"Immortal, invulnerable, indestructible…" Wesley removed his glasses and pressed his fingers against his eyes.

"Just keeps getting better and better, don't it, English?" Gunn was leaning on the back of Wesley's chair. He had been in the training room with the Slayers, keeping the weapons in check, tossing them new ones as and when they were needed. He glanced at Hermione. "You okay?"

The witch was watching her lover, who was running her fingers lightly over the covers of closed books, her eyes closed. "Oh yes…" she said tightly. "Wonderful. Perfect. Absolute marvellous."

"Baby, please… I need your help on this too…" Willow whispered imploringly. She raised her other hand and despite the look on her face, Hermione immediately slid her own into it, their fingers tangling together.

Around the room, those in attendance fell silent.

Under the table, Willow's feet slipped out of her shoes and pressed to the stone of the floor, her eyes squeezing closed. She gasped as light seemed to radiate from within her. Blindly, she reached into the stack of books, snatching one at random.

A second followed, then she rose, pulling away from Hermione, and started to run.

"Dude, her eyes are still closed!" Faith's exclamation followed Hermione as she raced after her lover.

Pulled along by something more powerful than herself, Willow didn't seem aware of her lover's voice calling for her, running through the halls, pupils scattering before her and her outstretched hands.

They passed Giles, who had been emerging from the dungeons, Willow taking the stairs down to the dungeon three at a time, slipping and skidding on the cold stone of the floor. Her breath was rapid and she stumbled to a halt in front of a painting, shaking and groping at it.

"Willow!"

"Here… it's here…" Willow whispered.

"What is it, Willow?" Giles's voice spoke from behind Hermione, consternation audible in his voice. "That's Severus's room."

Without answering, Willow leaned forwards and laid her forehead against the painting, her hands splaying on the wall on either side of the frame, fingertips brushing the stone as if reading something in the texture.

A moment later, the portrait swung open and she staggered into the darkened room, as if drawn by an irresistible force, but before Hermione and Giles could enter, she emerged, a shabby, much-thumbed book clutched in her hands.

"Is that…"

Holding it up, Willow squinted at it and looked at Hermione, bewildered. The title appeared to be Mastering the Mind, not what they expected to help them defeat the Goddess. "I… I don't know… but the school… thinks…" Rubbing her head, she winced. "Okay, I'm gonna have to lie down. Can I figure this out later?"

Hermione was immediately at her side, sliding an arm around her waist. "It can wait for a little while," she said, worry in her voice. "Come on. I'll get you back to our room." She looked at Giles, who nodded. "I think you could do with some rest."

Willow made no protest, almost sagging against Hermione, her energy spent.

"Take this," the Watcher said, slipping a vial into Hermione's hand. "Dreamless sleep potion."

Gratefully, Hermione slipped the small bottle into a pocket. It had been days, weeks since Willow had rested properly and if she needed to be dosed to ensure she would actually get some sleep, then Hermione would see to it.

8.8.8.8.8

"You can't tell me things aren't getting worse!"

"I know, honey," Joyce approached her daughter slowly, as Buffy continued to pound her fists and feet against the punchbag. "But I don't like seeing you like this. You're tiring yourself out."

Catching the swinging punchbag against her palms, Buffy dropped her head forward against it. "Mom, she's got Dawn..." she whispered. "She's got Dawn and everyone keeps telling me it'll be okay and that we'll get her back, but we shouldn't _have_ to get her back. We shouldn't have lost her in the first place."

Touching Buffy's shoulder, Joyce nodded. "I know, sweetie," she said softly. "But when you get her back, I don't want to see you get hurt because you've tired yourself out. I want to see you kicking that... thing's ass so hard that she can't see straight. I want you to win and walk back to me." She drew Buffy around to face her. "I don't want to risk losing you too, even for a little while."

"Like Willow's mom lost Will and..."

"Like any mom who ever lost a child, sweetie," she replied softly. "I don't want to lose both my girls." She stroked Buffy's cheek. "You need to rest as much as you need to train. You don't have to do it on your own. You have Faith here too."

"Yeah, and she broke Faith's back last time they fought."

"And almost completely shattered your skull," her mother reminded her softly. "Honey, if you fight together, you've got more of a chance. Don't make this all about revenge. Let her help you."

"I earned the speech?" The Slayer tried to smile, but it faded.

"You earned the speech," Joyce agreed gently. "Use everything you can, Buffy, but don't do it on your own."

Reaching out, Buffy stopped the punchbag swinging. "She's already taken too many other people from us," she said quietly. "There're all those people they had in the hospital that she hurt and there's Will's brother... and Snapey..."

"The man with the black hair?"

Buffy nodded. "He's helped us a lot, mom, and he got hurt saving Dawnie."

"Will he be all right?" Joyce asked, lifting a hand to stroke back a strand of her daughter's hair, watching Buffy's hazel eyes darken with emotion and uncertainty. "I know there was nothing they could do at home, but maybe here, with the magic...?"

Her gently-spoken words made her daughter look up sharply, the sudden fierce determination in her eyes replacing the blank focus that had been there before. "You think they might be able to make him... all of them better?"

"Maybe," Joyce murmured, then allowed herself a small half-smile. "So... you're a friend of his, huh?"

Buffy made a face, but there was a fondness in it that belied the expression. "He's cranky and a jerk," she said flatly, then looked down at her taped hands. "But yeah. He's a good guy. You wouldn't want to be in a fight against him." Joyce said nothing, though her smile widened a little and Buffy - aware of the silence - looked up suspiciously. "What?"

"So, how long have you two...?"

"Mom!"

Joyce laughed despite herself, despite the situation, raising her hands in mock-defence. "I'm sorry, sweetie, but I've started noticing things more that I hardly see you and... well..."

"You _noticed_, huh?" Buffy made another face. "Me and him? Ew."

"Ew maybe, but you're blushing," Joyce noted triumphantly.

"What? No!" Pressing her hands to her cheeks, feeling the heat of her skin, Buffy stared at her mother in dismay. "Oh God... I am..."

"So, how long?" Joyce repeated, arms folded sternly.

"But we... we haven't... not really... kinda done..." It almost made Joyce laugh aloud to see her tough, independent super-hero daughter reduced to a stammering teen once more. "I mean, he... we're not... officially..."

Reaching out, she took her daughter's hands and leaned closer to conspiratorially whisper. "I promise I won't tell anyone about you and Snapey." Then she smiled and added. "And when he gets better, you bring him home for dinner, all right?"

8.8.8.8.8

For the first time since the transfer had been made, Dumbledore was standing in the ward of St. Mungo's. The ward was long, lined with beds, where patients bound by magic were twitching and thrashing against invisible bonds.

The afternoon light was heavy with dust, slanting in through the windows lining the tall walls, and the scent of magical antiseptic and potions was almost suffocating, but Dumbledore still stood and looked down the ward.

It was almost a month to the day since Severus has spoken out to him.

"You're sure this is the right thing to do?"

The Professor looked down at the matron of the ward. "I trust the one who told me so," he murmured. "It may well be the only way to find her, and our only way to stop her assault on our world."

Along the ward, healers stood with their wands at the ready. Visitors had been banned, turned away, and as one, the healers raised their wands. The matron inhaled slowly, then nodded, biting down on her lower lip.

The magical bonds fizzled to nothing.

For a moment, the patients seemed unaware of their liberty, but after a few moments, they were all struggling to their feet, stumbling and shambling towards the door, oblivious to the healers watching them.

Within his sleeves, Dumbledore clasped his hands together, his eyes fixed on one patient in particular. He probed with his mind, and he saw Severus twitch as if something had stung him, black eyes coming into focus for a split second.

In that instant, he nodded that this was right, then his eyes were blank once more.

Following the shuffling crowd into the halls, Dumbledore saw several of the Order of the Phoenix flanking the walls, ready to cast masking shields over themselves to follow. None of them knew what the purpose was, but Dumbledore knew they trusted him, and he knew that he trusted Severus.

On his nod, they moved into place, and with a tired sigh, Dumbledore began the journey back to Hogwarts.

8.8.8.8.8

"They're doing what now?"

With the watch changeover, Lupin and Ron had just arrived back at the castle, while two more of the Weasleys had moved out again. Bill was looking into the location of the Malfoy house, while Charlie had taken over watch at the site where Glory's victims had gathered on the plains of Wiltshire.

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Ron shrugged. "Building something," he replied. "Some kind of scaffolding-y-thing." He made a vague gesture. "Metal, wood, all that kind of stuff, but it doesn't look very solid."

"Well, yeah, crazy people aren't known for being totally stable," Xander quipped, dodging the ball of paper hurled at him by Spike and drawing a weary smile from Willow's brother.

"Any sign of that bitch, yet?" the vampire asked. He was on his feet, pacing around the staff room, where they had retreated after the staff meeting.

"Like I said to Dumbledore," the youngest of the Weasley sons was looking more and more exhausted with every changeover. "There's only been her demon chums."

"It's not ready, then," Spike noted. "She'll only show up when it's time."

"If they build it," Xander nodded. "She will come."

Blue eyes rolled. "You are such a bloody great nonce," the vampire said flatly.

"And proud of it," Xander replied amiably.

Sitting on the edge of one of the squashy chairs, nowhere near as light-hearted as the other two, Ron was leaning forward, forearms resting on his knees, fingers laced so tightly together that they were white. "D'you think the Slayers'll be able to do her in?" he asked. "She knocked them both around last time."

Xander's expression darkened. "I've never seen Buffy this focussed," he said quietly. "Not in all the years I've known her. This is more than just duty. This is personal. All she does is train and plan. I don't think she even sleeps anymore."

"And the littler Slayer is spoiling for a fight since the minions broke her boyfriend's hip and the bitch broke her back and cancelled her joyriding for a month," Spike noted dryly, both the young men groaning. "What? S'true."

"I prefer not to think about Sirius having sex, thank you." Ron said, a little green.

Spike's teeth flashed white as he grinned. "What about that Slayer, eh? Buffy has the all-American sweetheart thing going on, but that Faith chit? She could ride you at a gallop until your legs buckled and your eyes rolled up." A nostalgic grin crossed his face. "She could squeeze you until you popped like warm champagne, and you'd beg her to hurt you just a little bit more."

Ron and Xander exchanged looks.

"Look," Ron mumbled, leaning towards Xander. "I know I haven't slept much and might be imagining things, but did he really just say that?"

"Yeah... yeah, I think he's been putting too much thought into this," Xander said faintly.

"Not me," the vampire smirked. "All her. Almost direct quote."

The two younger men gaped at him.

"Faith said that? To you?"

Spike laughed. "You even have to ask?"

Xander opened his mouth to protest and promptly shut it again. "No, it's true. She would say something like that."

Leaning against the back of Ron's chair, Spike chuckled. "Would and did," he said, then reached down to tap Ron on the head. "Ginger, what you got planned?"

Blinking, Ron looked up. "Well, I was thinking about seeing how Willow is before getting some sleep."

"Good luck getting anywhere near her," Xander volunteered with a grimace. "She's been working as hard as Buffy since they both came around. Hermione finally managed to knock her out, and I don't think she came round yet."

"I should probably try," Ron replied, running a hand over his face. "Mum and dad are running around all over the place. They'll want me to keep her updated, since she can't be back out there yet."

"Oh yeah..." Spike's expression grew more serious and he straightened, starting to pace again. "I forgot about the half of the gruesome twosome."

"Yeah. Any news yet?" Xander asked.

Ron shook his head. "They traded, and now, all we can do is wait for it and hope she doesn't change her mind," he said sombrely. "George is going spare. They've never been apart this long before, not since they were tiny. He doesn't know what to do with himself."

"Where is _he_ anyway?"

"George?" Ron sagged back in the chair he was sitting on. "He's out there, looking, even if he knows it's useless. Even if it works and she... well... it doesn't mean he's still... she's not the kind of person to..." He fell silent.

"He's fine." Spike said flatly.

"How do you know?" Ron's voice was almost desperately grasping for the certainty that the vampire had.

Pausing mid-stride, Spike turned to look at him. "Used to be a bad guy, mate," he said. "If she was going to kill him or do anything to him, she would have done it and left the bodies lying and she wouldn't have just taken the one. And since we're giving her what she thinks she needs to keep her Key in one piece, and since we have the last... ingredient... she has to give him up intact or not at all."

Ron laughed weakly. "And that's actually comforting," he said faintly.

"If you can't trust a reformed vampire with delusions of super-villainy," Xander waxed rhetorical, "Who can you trust?"

8.8.8.8.8

It had amusing watching Glory froth and rage, when the potion had been put together, only for her to be informed that the final item required to make it work was lacking. Narcissa had aimed for apologetic servility, and insisted that they must trade, at once, for the medicine to save the Key.

It had become less amusing, however, when Lucius was thrown into the room and ordered to see that the potion was not some concoction that would prove otherwise adverse to the unfortunate, ill Key.

He would recognise it if he found out what the concoction was made from, she knew, and if that was the case, then all was lost.

Kneeling by the cauldron, she stared up at him desperately, shocked by the bruising and cuts on his face. He looked wretched, and it was all because of the vicious bitch who hardly cared a thing for him.

"Will this cure her?" he asked quietly. "Or kill her?"

"Lucius..."

For a moment, his expression changed, and his voice sank lower, "Will it save you? Us?"

In a way, she supposed it was the truth, because if it worked, if they did as they intended to, then they would stop her, which would mean that the world was saved from the power of the Key.

She nodded.

Rising, her husband had limped to the door and informed Glory that the time had come to trade in the Weasley and get what they needed. He hesitated in the doorway for several moments then stepped out of sight and the door closed behind him.

On the bed behind her, Dawn coughed, and Narcissa approached.

"Are you certain this will work?" she asked the girl softly, making a great show of fussing over the child.

Dawn opened an eye. "Its all we can do," she whispered. "It might work, but it might not. We gotta keep her distracted so they can find a way to kill her, get it ready, and hope that she doesn't try and hurt anyone else until then."

Narcissa sighed, looking back at the cauldron, which was both diversion and only hope.

"All we can do," she agreed.

8.8.8.8.8.8

The field was the same one, but this time, the sky was clear and blue, and Buffy was the one smiling as Glory appeared with a scowl on her face and with a group of demons gathered around her.

"Oh, did someone poop on your parade?"

The Goddess stepped aside and Fred Weasley was pushed forward by two little robed figures. He stumbled and fell at Glory's feet, his hair caught in her fist. "This is what you were looking for, right?"

The relief from Bill and Giles behind her was palpable. "We have something you want, you have something we want," she said diplomatically. "Give us Fred and you get your last little ingredient."

"How do I know you aren't gonna screw me over?" Glory said with an ugly expression.

Buffy smiled at her. "Well, since we're the one with the ingredient, what choice have you got?"

The Goddess snatched at Fred's matted hair again and twisted his neck until he cried out in pain around the cloth tied around his mouth. "How about I snap his neck, kill all of you and take the ingredient anyway?"

Buffy raised her hands in submission. "Okay," she said stepping forward, the grass shifting under her feet. "You know I only want the Key safe. Why would I let her die, if keeping her alive means I still have time to get her back from you?"

Glory snorted. "You and what army?" she said then kicked Fred across the clearing. He crashed straight into his brother and Giles, knocking them flat, and the demon approached Buffy. "The ingredient?"

Trusting Giles and Bill to be tending to Fred, she pulled an envelope out of her pocket. "Its the rule for the person holding the Key," she said as seriously as she could. "It makes her keep living until she's discarded."

She held it out and Glory snatched at it, tearing open the envelope.

Blue-green eyes skimmed the words, then looked at her suspiciously. "You serious?"

Buffy nodded. "She was made out of part of me, while she was in my charge. Now, she's in yours."

Glory grinned. "It's so easy!" she said, then looked beyond her. "And since you're all harmless and undefended now..."

Buffy stepped back three paces and smiled again as a shield shivered into place around her and the three behind her. "Don't let the colouring fool you," she said, as Glory's expression contorted into fury. She waved her hand. "See you soon."

The Goddess spat curses as she stalked back to her minions, her shoes sticking in the soft ground, and vanished with the portkey again.

Running to Giles's side, Buffy went down on one knee, looking Fred over. "You okay?"

Fred gave her a weak smile, held in his big brother's arms. "I'm free as a bird and have a pretty girl petting me," he whispered through dry lips. "I think I'll live." He looked passed her. "Did your cunning plan work?"

"Not my cunning plan," she said. "Dawn's."

"And it worked?" he repeated.

The Slayer's expression turned serious. "I hope so."


	65. The Best Laid Plans

THE BEST LAID PLANS

Notes: This is the first chapter to be written from scratch for ages. Most of the others have been lying around in fragment form for many a moon, but this… let's say ideas changed over 4 years and it needed to be started afresh.

8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8

"Fred!"

Buffy and Remus barely had time to move aside before the bruised Fred Weasley was grabbed from between them by his parents and pulled into a tight hug. More than four other arms were rapidly added, and Remus gave the Slayer a brief smile.

"Times like this, it makes things worthwhile, doesn't it?" he said softly.

"Sometimes," she had to agree with a nod. "You fill Dumbledore in for me?"

Remus nodded. "I'll get it sorted," he said. "Do you want some food sent up to your room?"

Buffy shook her head, watching the Weasleys hurrying their son up towards the castle, and kicked the crushed can that had served as the portkey to one side. "I'm good," she said. "I'll just walk back up more slowly. Take my time."

Remus gave her a curious look, but didn't ask anything else, making his way after the Weasleys.

Kicking the can again, Buffy sighed.

It was weird that on a day when the sky was blue without a single cloud and she could hear the kids at the school enjoying a free afternoon, she still felt like she was screwing everything up.

Yeah, they had got Fred back, and they had hopefully set Glory up to screw herself over, but that didn't make her feel any better knowing that Dawn was still trapped somewhere, at the mercy of witches and wizards who didn't give a damn if she lived or died, as long as they got what they wanted.

She walked back towards the school.

This far from the castle, the grass was still pretty long, and she didn't feel like following the carriage path, so she waded through it, kicking up dandelions, white fluff catching on the wind.

Spring already, getting closer and closer to summer.

Ducking under the trees, she stepped out onto the lawn that led up towards the castle, a smile creeping onto her lips.

She was still wearing her coat, but it looked like the kids in the school thought it was already the middle of summer. Some of them were wading in the shallows of the lake, while others were sunning themselves on the grass, sleeves rolled up, collars undone; enjoying what they thought was warm weather.

Walking out of the shade of the trees, she wondered how they would deal with the good old weather of home then stopped. Home. It'd be weird going back, after living in a world where everyone knew what she was, and didn't mind. Going back to anonymity. It was something she hadn't considered.

"Professor Summers!"

Startled, she turned.

Duncan Cameron was hurrying towards her across the grass. He had apparently been sitting with a group of other Gryffindors, but had got up as soon as he saw her, leaving his books and sweater in a heap on the grass.

"Hey, Duncan," she said, when he was close enough, trying to pull on a convincing smile. "You okay?"

He nodded, tugging at his grass-stained cuff anxiously. "I saw Mr and Mrs Weasley coming up from the gates," he said carefully. "Was today the day ye were going to try and get the last bit tae Dawn?"

Buffy nodded. "We got Fred Weasley back as well," she said quietly.

"But not Dawnie," he finished for her, looking down at the grass. "She'll… she will be all right, won't she?"

"Yeah." The Slayer crossed her arms, rubbing her left hand against her right arm and looking passed the boy towards the castle. "I think she will." She tried to laugh. "As long as she doesn't make anyone cranky."

"Aye," Duncan agreed quietly. "I wish I could help, Professor."

She smiled tiredly. "You are," she said. "You helped us with her wacky soup stuff and you helped with Snapey and you're going to be waiting with us when she comes back, right?"

Duncan's smile was stronger. "Aye," he said firmly. "She won't get rid of me as easily as all that."

Okay, it was probably totally inappropriate, but she had to hug him for that.

When he stepped back, he stared at her, blinking. "Um…"

"Get back to your buddies," she said with a smile that wasn't forced. He nodded, almost running away from her, and she laughed quietly. As she continued on her way back up to the castle, she could hear the teasing begin.

8.8.8.8.8

The Goddess was standing over them and Narcissa looked anxiously at Dawn, who was laid out on the bed as if she was in the process of dying very noisily. Glory had returned and immediately come to the room, demanding to finish the medicine to stop the Key from making such a noise.

A single hair had been tugged from her head and she had thrust it at Narcissa without even saying a word. She had looked angry, but for once, it wasn't directed at Narcissa and the girl on the bed.

Filling a cup with the potion, she approached the bed, slipping her arm under Dawn's shoulders to draw the girl into a sitting position.

"It in?" Dawn murmured barely audibly.

"Your medicine is ready," Narcissa said coolly, pressing the cup against Dawn's lips and she saw the girl's expression of disgust as she forced herself to drink some of the lumpy polyjuice potion.

Narcissa sat back at once, waiting for the change.

Dawn continued to moan and groan theatrically. Nothing happened. Blue eyes darted towards Narcissa, the unspoken question visible in them, and Narcissa shook her head. Nothing physically was happening, internally or externally.

Dawn swore so softly it barely reached Narcissa's ears and she grimaced, nodding just enough for the girl to see.

"Well?" Glory demanded sharply. "Is it better?"

Narcissa caught Dawn's hand in her own, which felt ice-cold, looking from her to the demon Goddess and back again. She felt the child grip her fingers, looked at her, and saw the brisk, quick nod.

"Yes," she said, returning her coolest look to Glory. "She will recover."

"Keep potion!"

She nodded stiffly to show she had heard the girl's hiss. "Although I should keep what remains of her medicine close at hand, should she have a relapse of any kind. It would be most… unfortunate."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Glory said, waving dismissively.

"I'm hungry!"

The Goddess stopped in the doorway, turning around. Dawn was sitting upright in the middle of the bed, all pretence of illness gone now. "You're hungry?"

"Yeah," she replied. "We need proper food. Nice stuff. She's gotta look after me and I've got to be at full strength if you want me to work properly, right? So we need to have good food."

Glory stared at her suspiciously then nodded. "Okay." She kicked one of the demons by the door. "You hear that? You make sure the Key and her nurse are given good food and kept healthy. Don't want it sick again before I need it."

The demons nodded obediently, scurrying off out of the doors, closely followed by the Goddess, who gave them both a lingering scowl before slamming the door. The locks slid into place and they heard her shoes clattering noisily as she stalked away.

Dawn's shoulder sagged, defiance gone. "So much for that plan," she said, looking over at the cauldron which was sitting close to the fireplace. "No walking out of here in Glory-shape."

"The potion may have been flawed," Narcissa said carefully.

Dawn shook her head. "I know that potion way too well to screw it up," she replied with certainty. "I've made it before and used it and it worked. Bring some more and we can switch, and I'll prove it."

"That is not necessary, Miss Summers," Narcissa demurred, looking thoughtfully at the cauldron. "Perhaps it is her nature that prevented a reaction. It would not have worked on her as a non-human creature, but perhaps, because she is not truly human, it had no affect on you, even if she bears human shape."

"But if that's right, then it shouldn't work on me," Dawn said, frowning. "I'm not even real-human."

"But you are closer to real humanity than she is," Narcissa said, a thoughtful look on her face. "You were crafted from the Slayer, were you not? And she, despite her power, is still a human?"

Dawn nodded slowly. "But Glory has human parts too," she said. "I remember something about her being kept in a human vase? Vase-kinda-thing?"

"A vessel?" Dawn nodded. "But that does not mean she is of human blood. She says herself that she isn't like us. She's a demon, and she can't stand humanity. _You_ are human. She isn't."

For a moment, Dawn only stared at her then she smiled. "Yeah!" she said, as if she had only just realized. "I'm a real, live human and I'm gonna kick that evil demon's hinney… uh…" Her face fell. "Once we come up with a new plan."

"A new plan that uses those ingredients that we have left, and a cauldron of polyjuice potion, perhaps?" Narcissa suggested with a nod to Dawn's equipment that was stacked by the cauldron. "After all, your friend was most generous."

Dawn's smile returned. "I think we can come up with something," she agreed.

8.8.8.8.8

Shutters had been drawn over all the windows of the workroom. The only light rose from a round basin that had been placed in the middle of the table, flickering and glowing with a soft blue nimbus.

"If we can find a way to carry the charm," Willow said, pointing to an image in the book she had recovered from Snape's quarters. "Kinda like a portable pensieve-for-sucked-souls, to pull out what she took."

Dumbledore thoughtfully stroked his beard. "There may be a risk that too many minds would be liberated at once," he replied. "If many of her victims are present, then who can say if a mind will return to its rightful owner or be lost to the ether?"

Professor McGonagall was leaning on the table, looking at the contents of the pensieve. The pale light made the lines of her face deepen, her frown almost palpable in the air. "But it would too dangerous to attempt to use physical contact to hold both victim and perpetrator," she said.

"A magic connection?" Willow offered hopefully. "Maybe bond them together, so there's no bad-touching?"

Hermione shook her head. She was sitting in the chair beside Willow, sorting through the notes. "You can't be certain it won't reverse on you," she said. "It might end up with her taking from you, instead of you taking from her."

Willow made a frustrated sound. "It all looked so neat and easy," she said, flipping through the pages of the book. "Do the magic, make the mojo-rific doohickey and get everyone their brains back."

"Nothing is ever as simple as it first appears," McGonagall murmured, sitting down and crossing her arms on the tabletop. "Unless you could find some way to ensure that Glory only comes in contact with one of her victims at a time, and you can do so in a way that means no harm will come to you."

"A shield charm?" Giles suggested. "Some of them seemed to work quite efficiently against her."

"But if we trap people inside a shield with her," Hermione pointed out, "she'll need to feed again to regain her strength, and they would be trapped inside it with her, even if it was just for a moment."

"This would be so much easier," Willow decided, "if we had a kinda magic laser-gun to shoot magic at the right people." She looked around at the faces that were all giving her exactly the same look. "What?"

"What exactly would you call a wand?" Hermione said with a smile.

Willow went red. "Oh. Yeah. Right."

"The difficulty arises in having two simultaneous targets," Professor McGongall said, tapping a fingertip on the table. "If there is a battle being fought, then there are no assurances of a clean strike, which would lead to even more trouble should a charm hit the wrong person."

"If you have two people doing the charming specifically, they could cast the positive and negative," Giles said slowly, as if processing the thought. "And the targets would be drawn together."

"The force of magical attraction?" Hermione's eyes were round. "The spells would have to be incredibly specific to ensure contact."

"If we do find charms which are specific enough, it would mean that we wouldn't have to touch either Glory or victim personally," Giles said, "but there would be enough contact for this to work." He tapped the edge of the pensieve, which sent the liquid shimmering. "As long as it didn't put all minds back into the first individual we tried."

"If we only have her and whoever it is in range," Willow said, "it should be okay. Kind of like the ghost-traps in Ghostbusters. Big glowy light and swoosh! Soul pulled out of Glory and put back in the right place."

"At least we have time to find some specific spells…" Hermione began.

The door at the end of the room burst open, and Ron Weasley stumbled in, panting, his face scarlet and hair in disarray. "Demons just started showing up at her building site," he wheezed. "She'll be there in a few hours. Thought you'd want to know."

Hermione shut her mouth firmly.

Dumbledore rose from his seat. "In that case," he murmured. "Inform the Slayers to arrange their weapons. We will work on the charms we need here for as long as we have, and as soon as word reaches us that she has appeared, then we shall go."

8.8.8.8.8

"So, how we gonna choose?"

Buffy looked at the array of weapons spread on the floor of the former classroom and present training room. "Well, you found the hammer," she said, looking up at Faith. "And I can never swing it right. You saw what I did to the dummies."

"Missed totally?"

"Pretty much," Buffy said with a rueful grin. "And it looks like we'll be the ones who need the goddess-smashing stuff, so I'll take that sword I got from Dumbledore's office, because it made such a great hole in her last time."

Faith nodded in agreement. "And all the wandies can wave their little bitty sticks and do what they do, right?"

"And what about us no-wandies?" Gunn inquired. He was leaning against the wall of the room, watching the Slayers sorting through their weapons by the late afternoon light. "You guys just brought me along to watch?"

"Hell no, big G," Faith said with a grin. "Brought you for the eye-candy."

Gunn raised an eyebrow. "Kid, that's sweet, but if I'm gonna be here, you know I'm not gonna sit back and wait for y'all to come begging."

"Jesus, B," Faith said, laughing. "He's like Xan. If Xan were kinda… cool."

"Thanks, I don't think," Xander snorted, walking into the room and stopping dead, his eyes on the collection of weapons on the floor. "Are you two trying to compensate for something?"

"Says the guy with no wand or weapon," Buffy said. He stared at her, then grinned and nodded. "You're going to come along for the ride too?"

"You'd have to knock me out to stop me," he said at once, then gave both Slayers a wary look. "And that isn't a suggestion. Cordy sent me down to make sure we didn't get stuck with the crappy weapons."

"Cordy too, huh?"

Buffy laughed quietly, squatting down to sort through some daggers, turning them over and checking the blades. "I get the feeling we're gonna surprise some witches and wizards, don't you?"

"Hey, it was our fight way before we ended up hiding out in their school," Xander said. "And anyway, no one takes one of us and gets away with it." He eyed a large and sharp-looking spear. "Can I have that?"

"Something to keep the nasties as far from you as you can, Xan? Real manly." The dark-haired Slayer glanced at the weapon he'd asked for. "And hey! Who you askin' about compensating, Harris? That is way longer than my piece!"

"Faith," Buffy said, shaking her head with a chuckle as Xander groaned and rolled his eyes. "You just can't help it, can you?"

Faith grinned, teeth gleaming. "What'd be the fun of that, B?" she asked. Swooping down, she grabbed a handful of throwing knives and the belt they hooked on to. "We do got demons and shit to kill, apart from Glory, right?"

"And some of the humans on her side too."

For the first time since they'd started sorting through the weapons, Faith went quiet.

"The crazies?" she asked finally.

"And witches and wizards," Buffy said. "You going to be okay?"

Faith nodded stiffly. "Yeah," she said quietly. "Big bad and her minions. Hell, I'll stick with fighting the demon-things. There's gonna be a whole army, right? Gotta be something there I can kick the hell out of."

"A whole army," Buffy agreed. "But we get her out of the way first."

Faith nodded again, strapping the belt of throwing knives around her waist. "Well, if we're gonna go and kick ass, we should get mounted up, right?"

Buffy gave her a smile. "Yeah," she agreed. "Time to save the world. Again."

8.8.8.8.8.8

The Key was all tied up. Luce's girl didn't look pleased about it, but she was standing back all the same, arms folded, watching the demons leading the Key out the door of the room.

"You sure you want her coming after us?" Glory looked at Lucius impatiently. He looked at the woman standing on her lonesome in the room and nodded. "Okay, so we leave Jinx here, and as soon as I know she's not going to do anything dumb, he lets her come. How about that?"

"That would be appreciated," he murmured.

Glory looked him over. Ever since he'd got back from being all captured, he'd been kinda weird. Quieter, for one, and he didn't yell back at her anymore. He wasn't as much fun and he'd not even tried touching her since then.

"You're pathetic," she decided, grabbing the Key by the hair. "All… feelingy and with the emotions." She pulled a face. "Sooner I'm out of here, the better."

"Glory." She turned, startled. The woman in the room was looking at her. "Good luck."

The Goddess snorted. "Yeah, sweetcakes," she said. "Like I need it."

Luce's girl didn't say anything else, but her hands were squeezing her arms real tight and she looked liked she was clenching her teeth to make sure she kept her mouth shut. At least she'd learned something.

Luce went to her, telling her something about portkeys and meeting at the place, and some other crap about everything being fine. Glory left them to it, pulling the Key along by the hair.

"That hurts!"

"Just wait, honey," Glory said with a grin. "You've got a big night ahead of you."

Luce caught up with them a few minutes later in the big front hall, and he looked even more grumpy than usual, but he nodded when she looked at him. "We're ready to go," he said.

He waved his wand and made a table glow. Forcing the Key to touch it, she grabbed the edge, and her demons did the same. Around them, the whole world went swirly and they landed near the stones of the circle.

It was dark already, best time for rituals, and it looked like all the crazies came out in the moonlight too. Everything was all lit up with blue, and there wasn't even a cloud in the sky. The stones looked like huge blocks of silver standing there, shining.

She'd been surprised when Luce'd suggested the place for the ritual, but when she had stepped into the middle of the circle for the first time it was like something had lit up in her head. There was so much _power_.

The Key stumbled, and Glory heard it gasp. "Stonehenge?"

"An illusion of intelligence now?" Luce muttered. "Spare us."

Glory laughed and shoved the Key at him. "Get her up top," she said.

With a snap, he vanished with it, and Glory stepped into the circle with a satisfied grin. It was all going right according to plan. Her grin widened. The rude guy in black from the school was right there, finishing building the tower that was stretching way above them. How the brainy had fallen.

Whirling around in the middle of the stones, she laughed.

There was a sharp crack.

Stopping mid-spin, Glory froze.

She remembered that sound from when Luce showed up to surprise her, appearing out of nowhere. Could be some more of his wizard guys were about, but with all the bad luck she'd had already, she wouldn't be surprised if there was some dumb attempt at a rescue.

Moving towards the edge of the circle, she pushed passed some of the crazies who were still working. Stepping between two of the standing stones, she couldn't see anything and stepped out from the shadow of the stones.

Something whirled through the air and she spun in time to see a hammer swinging at her. It lifted her and threw her away from the circle. Scrambling upright, she whirled around as there were more and more cracks of sound, figures appearing behind the one with the hammer, and racing for the tower.

Glory yelled a curse, her own demons and the crazies started to move, trying to stop them getting anywhere near the wobbling tower. Someone caught her shoulder, spun her round and hit her again with the hammer hard enough to make her bounce and skid along the grass.

Picking herself up, Glory bared her teeth. Stains! On her new dress! Oh, that was not good.

"Hey there, blondie." It was the dark-haired Slayer, the huge hammer propped on her shoulder, and she was grinning like she wasn't about to get torn to pieces. "Sorry to crash the party."

"You!" Glory hissed.

Something struck from behind, pain scorching through her, and she looked down to see a sword sticking through her chest. "And me!" the other Slayer said from behind her, pulling the sword out. "How's it going?"

It wasn't fair!

They should have given up already! She had beaten them both before, so why the hell did they just keep on coming back? They didn't get it! All she wanted was to get the stupid Key to open the doorway, so she could go home already.

Around them, demons and wizards and witches and hugwits and mugheads were all fighting as well, and Glory wanted to scream and throw things. The sword hurt! The hammer hurt! Everything was starting to hurt!

There was the sword, and the hammer, and they just wouldn't stop.

Light was flashing everywhere, people where yelling, things were exploding and it was starting to hurt and she could feel blood on her skin. The only good thing was that Luce was up there, with the knife, and the door would open soon.

"Now!"

It was the blonde Slayer yelling and Glory staggered around to face her again.

The rude guy in black from the school seemed to be flying through the air and crashed straight into her. Somewhere, a voice cried out something about memory and white light blasted up from underneath Glory.

Her mind felt like something tore it open and she screamed.


	66. Warzone

WARZONE

Notes: (27th Nov. 05) Good grief. Just found this chapter hidden in my folders and I am appalled to realise that I started writing this chapter in December 2002. 3 years ago, I had a chunk of this particular chapter finished. That really is quite frightening, considering I hadn't even started most of the 30s and had no idea what my brain would do before I reached this point. And yet, I've changed very little of this chapter altogether. Gah. Am too organised sometimes.

Goodness knows how much longer it'll be until I post this chapter, though. So much work. Gah. This fic has been in progress for _so_ long. I do believe I've just hit 4 years. My very, very bad.

**July 2007** - um. Oops?

**November 2007** - Yes. So. I'm a bad, bad person. And this is being reuploaded because wrong file was put up. Sorry!

8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8

Power crackled and ripped through the air. Demons and humans clashed in the vast yard beneath the tower, some good, some evil, some confused and dragged into the fray without even knowing why.

And above it all, a single, dark-haired teenager could see it all lit by sporadic flashes of magic, from the ferocious fighting to the blond-haired figure who was, resolutely and determinedly, picking his way up the sheer side of the metal construction.

It had been a tricky business to slip past the guards, but Spike ascended the swaying structure easily, climbing hand over hand where he had to, his clothes torn and his skin bloodied by jagged pieces of metal catching him as he progressed upwards.

He could see Dawn tied up at the end of some kind of bridge extended above the courtyard, but - unlike the base of the tower - the bridge was deserted. He couldn't see or smell anyone near her.

One of the Weasleys had tried to fly up, but his broomstick had gone funny as soon as he crossed over the edge of the stone circle. Climbing was the only way up, unless you were bloody sure you could magic yourself onto a narrow, swaying parapet without falling to your splatting death.

Grabbing a girder several feet above his head, Spike hoisted himself up a level, wincing as a spar raked across his hip, leaving a flash of pale flesh and a smear of crimson. His hands were scraped raw already, the insane builders of the tower clearly having better things to think about that health and safety issues.

Metal overlaid metal, crates and spars of wood pushed into gaps in between, random girders and struts jammed in here, there and everywhere, the whole mess of metal and wood creaking and swaying ominously with every move he made.

Yet, it still kept standing, in spite of him clattering his way up, in spite of the shrill, fierce wind rattling against it, in spite of the shaking that was spreading up from the magic-stained ground.

Knocked against a barrier, he caught a spiked piece of metal with his hand as he tried to balance himself, hissing between his teeth, his demon visage showing forth as blood welled up from a ragged hole in his palm.

"Never get insane people to do your handiwork, you silly cow," he growled under his breath, reaching for a safer column and pulling himself back towards the middle of the tower. "Makes it harder for us heroes to save the day."

He risked a glance down the tower, which shuddered again, a flash of a grin crossing his face. The Slayer was on her way up. Better if there were the two of them; he'd need her to give him a hand getting the Niblet down.

"Meet you at the top, Slayer!" he called down and saw the golden head nod. Then he was climbing again, staggering slightly as he reached the swaying summit. His amber eyes met Dawn's and he threw her a jaunty nod, as he started negotiating his way across the bridge to her.

What he didn't expect, though, was the look of sheer terror on her face at the sight of him. She wasn't bleeding yet, which was something.

"Don't worry, Nibbles," he drawled, ducking as a piece of masonry, caught in the swirling maelstrom, whirled over his head. "I'm showing big sister how its done, since she's being lazy."

"No..." Dawn's voice sounded so much more tremulous and frightened than it had been before, and Spike made a mental note to be sure to kill Malfoy, no matter if a migraine followed, for breaking the Niblet.

Light steps carried him to the bound girl's side and he reached out for her, swearing aloud as magic shock ran through him. "What the hell...?" He stared at a black, blood-filled blister forming on his hand, then back at Dawn. "What's this lark?"

"It-it's a-a magic boundary," the girl stammered, staring at him, wide-eyed and confused. "He... he'll know someone is up here now... can't tie me with magic... might make the spell go wrong when he cuts... but he... he-he'll know... "

"Sod 'im," Spike said succinctly, pushing his hand through the invisible barrier, his teeth grinding together in pain. He caught her wrist, loosening the physical bindings on one wrist even as his pale skin started to darken with blood.

"You should go!" The girl's voice was less-tremulous and more forceful now, as she pushed his hand away and reached for her other wrist quickly. "I don't want anyone else to get hurt."

"Wouldn't want to get hurt for anyone else, Nibbles," Spike retorted, squatting down to unbind her ankles. The abrupt stillness above him made him look up to find blue eyes staring down at him. "What?"

She shook her head, then resumed pulling at the cords on her wrist. "It wouldn't work, even if he did it," she said, jerking against the bindings so forcefully that they cut into her skinny wrist. "Blood. She kept saying the blood is important."

"If it helps, we hoped it wouldn't," Spike offered dryly. "C'mon, love, let me..."

There was a crack behind him and he looked up at the girl. Her attention, though, was on a point beyond his shoulder, her expression filled with an emotion he couldn't quite identify. Feeling like an extra in a low-rated horror, he turned, brows rising.

"Why, it's the feisty little bugger!" he exclaimed, straightening up with a grin. "So, you got yourself all fixed, eh?"

Apparently unarmed and smiling pleasantly, Lucius Malfoy inclined his head in mock-politeness. He was standing steadily, ignoring the unsettling swaying of the bridge they were all precariously balanced on.

"I had so hoped we would run into one another again, _Spike_," he said dryly, dusting a speck of mortar off the front of his coat. "And before you barrel at me in a clumsy attempt at chivalrous heroics, do note that your little lamb would not be able to escape the barrier I have in place around her."

"S'I recall, goldielocks," Spike drawled, rocking on his heels. "You talk a lot of crap a lot of the time. Why should I believe a thing you say, eh?"

"Because your little girl's life is at stake here," Malfoy replied coolly, the smile never fading from his face. "With or without your aid, she shall die, but if you try and liberate her, it will only happen the sooner."

The vampire pulled a face. "So, lemme get this straight," he said, "I kill you and take her, she dies. I leave her and kill you, she dies?"

Malfoy smiled cruelly. "Quite the conundrum, wouldn't you say?" he said quietly.

"Not really," Spike's smile had lost all trace of amusement. "I kill you and we see if you're bluffing again." He took a step forward, but was checked by the mirth in the man's eyes. "What's funny?"

"Your ready condemnation," he replied, laughing softly. "I can assure you that the spell will hold her unless I alter it." He examined his fingertips. "However, if she remains where she is, the death, while slow, will be... moderately painless. If you slay me and rip her free, she will be burned to cinders by the spell. Slowly."

Spike's eyes flicked to the pale-faced girl and back again. "Don't believe you."

"That, you garrulous fool, no longer matters," Malfoy's eyes glimmered maliciously and his wand rose before Spike's face. "All I needed was a moment."

Whatever the spell was, Spike didn't hear.

All he felt was the wash of icy red light, then felt himself tumbling back off the edge of the narrow bridge, Dawn's face shrinking as he dropped like a stone towards the waiting ground.

"Bugger!"

8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8

"I'm okay."

Propping Willow against the stone of the circle, her wand out and casting shield charms around them, Hermione shook her head. "You don't look well at all," she said flatly, nodding to Giles and Wesley, who had been standing by as support. Given leave, they moved off to join the fray.

"One down," Willow whispered. "How's old Cranky britches?"

A spell ricocheted off the rock beside them, shards of rock exploding. Hermione swung around and fired off a rapid flurry of hexes, then looked around the rubble. "I think someone pulled him out of harm's way," she replied.

Willow's eyes were closed. "Got him right back," she said faintly, then reached out and touched her hand against the ancient stone. "Oh my God..."

"Willow?"

Green eyes snapped open and Willow scrambled upright. "Totally rechargable Willow," she gasped out. Her hands were trembling. "So much power."

"Her kind of power," Hermione replied, grabbing Willow's hand and pulling her into the shelter of a stone archway.

Willow shook her head. "Real, natural power," she replied and clasped both hands against the stones around her. A shockwave seemed to pass through her. "God knows how strong it'll be inside the circle."

A figure leaped over a pile of rubble, long coat flaring as he landed close to them. "You're hurt?" The vampire looked her over urgently.

Willow shook her head. "We're good, Angel," she replied, waving him away. He looked dubious. "Just a few teeny weeny scratches. Not like I haven't done major mojo when I wasn't all beat..." She paused, then slowly turned to look at the vampire. "That's right..."

"What's right?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"Major mojo?" Angel echoed. "Willow, you've already..."

"Shush!" She reached out and clapped a hand against the ancient stone. Her eyes flickered and sparked white and she grinned suddenly. "It's enough."

"Enough?"

Her smile was brilliant. "To get them all back! All the ones she took!" she replied. "You get Dumbledore, Flitwick and McGonagall and that mojo-bowl we used on Snape! I know what to do!"

With a doubtful look, Angel ran, dodging and diving under blasts of magic and swinging weapons. Stepping out of the shadows of the boulders, Willow looked around for the one person she needed to find.

"Willow, you're already exhausted," Hermione protested.

"Lesson one of working with Slayers," Willow replied softly. "Keep fighting." She turned an impish smile on Hermione. "Or never leave Xander with the jelly donuts. They pretty much go hand-in-hand."

"Willow..."

"I know," Willow said simply. "But I have to try."

She looked across the battlefield. A Slayer and three wizards were fighting against the blonde figure, and Willow felt power crackling its way up her body from the ground, scorching and making her skin thrum and her hair swirl around her face.

Dumbledore materialised by her side. "Miss Weasley?"

"I have an idea," Willow whispered, her eyes intently on the Goddess. "And we need them to be powerful enough to affect her." She looked up at him. "I need you three doing it. You're the most powerful ones here." A quick look was turned to Hermione. "And I need my anchor."

"Always," Hermione replied at once.

The Professor nodded. "Is there anything you will need?"

Willow winced. "I know it's a long-shot, but there's an orb... kinda like an upmarket version of that one I told you about."

"One doesn't get to an age such as mine without collecting a few trinkets," Dumbledore replied quickly. "I will have Anya fetch it. Fawkes will take it to her on the edge of the grounds. It will get here within moments."

"Good," Willow said vehemently. "And I want you guys behind a shield. Yes, you too."

"No." Hermione's voice was tight.

Willow closed her eyes, her hand still resting against the stone. "Safer for everyone."

"Leaving you unprotected with _her_?" McGonagall said doubtfully.

Willow laughed tightly. "Oh, when we get done, she won't have a second left to even touch a hair on my head," she replied.

8.8.8.8.8.8.8

"She all right?"

Giles nodded to Fred, who was wiping demon gore off his own face. "She's more than upright," he replied, swinging an axe out, then casting a blast with his wand, before diving back into the shelter of the stone archways.

"Good," Fred hissed. "Mum and dad are holding onto the other side. They wanted me to check." They were about a quarter of the way around the stone circle away from the spot where Glory had been attacked. "You holding this side?"

The older man nodded. "Tell Art I'll keep an eye on her," he replied firmly, giving Fred a firm push as he ran back out into the field. A figure loomed out of the darkness and he swung the axe again, only to pull it back when Wesley swung up his own sword.

"Good timing," Fred called before vanishing, ducking and weaving around the circle.

"Stop attacking your allies, Giles!" Anya's voice rang out, and he swung around. "Oh! Get off me, you freak!"

"Anyanka!" Wesley charged with Giles, both of them launching themselves at the scrawny figure, who was grabbing at Anya, apparently oblivious to the blows she was striking against his blond hair with a broken shovel.

For a split second, Giles froze at the sight of a familiar face. The last time he had seen, it was in a hospital bed, while his grieving mother sat close to him. Glassy grey eyes seemed to be looking right through him.

"Giles! Stop staring!" Anya squealed.

A strike of the sword fell across one of Draco Malfoy's legs, followed by a blast of magic that blew her attacker backwards. He scudded across the ground and rolled to a halt, his body bound. Anya ran after him and kicked him twice on the head.

"Anya!" Giles shouted. "Enough!"

"You keep your dirty, crazy hands off me!" Anya kicked him once more, then flounced back towards Giles, then held out a small shimmering ball to him. "Albus needs this and you were going in that direction."

Giles looked down at it and nodded, dropping the axe and wrapping his hand around it. "I'll see to it."

"And tell him not to die!" Anya called after him as he scrambled over the rubble and broken spars of metal. "I'd be mad if he died!"

A jinx ricocheted off the ground beside his foot, and he swore, dodging sideways. A splinter of stone had nicked his temple and he felt hot blood on his cheek, but ignored it, following the pattern of blasts of light further around the circle. "At least you weren't knocked unconscious," he muttered.

In his hand, the globe of light was pulsing. It was ice cold, but it burned his skin. He couldn't recall ever seeing anything like it before, aside from an Orb of Thessala, which had been less than half the size. The power was more intense, more focussed.

As he rounded the circle, he stopped short.

The young witch was standing, watching Glory being attacked from five directions, her own hands braced against the stone of the circle.

In front of her, Hermione had her hands on Willow's arm. Kneeling on the ground in front of them both, Dumbledore, Flitwick and McGonagall were position in a broad triangle. Giles could see the pattern of intricate spells they were weaving together, apparently oblivious to the battle intensifying around them.

The orb glowed in his hand and he looked from them to it.

Surely, they wouldn't dare.

"Professor!" he called out.

Dumbledore looked around, then nodded. A jerk of his wand and a flare of light, and the orb landed in the net of spells, which were held over the shallow basin that had once been a pensieve. The light from beneath and the flicker of the golden and scarlet threads of power shimmered oddly on the faces of the wizards and witch.

"Miss Weasley!"

Willow nodded. She was shaking violently, her eyes luminously white, her hair whirling around her face. She looked at Hermione, who raised her wand, and in a shaking but clear voice, screamed "Accio Glory!"

There was probably still noise. explosions. Shouting. Hundreds of thing. But Giles knew the only sound he would remember from that night was the screaming of the Goddess as the net of power closed around her, and a thousand innocent lives and souls were ripped back from her body.

8.8.8.8.8.8.8

Ben's brown eyes stared up hopelessly at the man kneeling over him.

There had been others, but they had fallen away around him, spent with power, blown away by whatever they had done to Glory. The ones who saw him after she hid away didn't remember. That was something at least.

Except one.

It was dark, night, but flashes all around lit up the thin face.

He vaguely recognised the guy. It was someone who he had seen in the school, if he remembered right, sinister-looking with a hooked nose, lank black hair and black eyes in an unnaturally pale face.

"You... have to help..." he gasped hoarsely. "Please..."

All he knew was that he was in pain and that Glory - when she hurt - always handed the reins back to him.

"You are her," the man said quietly, although the calm in his voice was no less chilling than the look in his black eyes. His face was expressionless, but Ben could sense his loathing. "The one who brought all of us to this."

"No."

The man sneered. "I remember, boy. My mind may have been weakened by her, but if I wish to remember something, I _will_ remember."

Closing his eyes briefly, Ben nodded. It was almost a relief, really. "I am," he admitted.

"You could have stopped this all, long ago."

There was no doubt in Ben's mind what the frightening man was talking about.

"I couldn't..."

"You could have." The voice was calm, steady and cold. There was no clear anger in it, but it was there, an undercurrent of black, simmering rage. "In so many ways, yet you did not and now, an innocent little girl could die."

The orderly winced at the words, but his mind was still screaming that it was better her than him. After all, it wasn't his fault he was bonded to a Goddess. It wasn't his fault she killed and maimed on whim. It wasn't his fault he couldn't stop her.

"You are weak."

"All right... I'm weak... I know... please... just help me..."

Black eyes studied him in a way that made him feel like less than a piece of dirt on the man's shoe.

"Could you have done it?" he finally snapped, anything to get those eyes to stop staring at him as if they wanted nothing more than to dissect him. "If you're so damn self-righteous, could you have killed yourself? Could you?"

Clearly that was what the dark man had been waiting to hear.

"To give your life for something means that you must care deeply for it. For you, you had the chance to save more than just your own soul. You had the chance to save this world from her destruction. To be able to stand by as she shatters it..." He shook his head gravely. "You were a fool."

"I..."

"You claimed to be a physician, yet you let her continue to destroy these lives," The disgust in the man's voice was palpable. "Lives that you were meant to protect."

"That doesn't... answer my question..." Ben hissed through his teeth. "Is there anyone who you would kill yourself to save?"

An odd emotion flicked into the black eyes. "There are several I would chance my worthless life with, yes, but there is one, only one, whom I would willingly lay down my life for," Ben would have cried out when a hand came down over his nose and mouth, cutting off his air, but it was so quick, like the strike of a snake. The man gazed steadily down at him, black eyes emotionless once more, as he murmured, "She is also the only one for whom I would kill again."

His body on fire from wounds that no doubt came from the pummelling the Slayer had laid on Glory, Ben tried futilely to struggle against the terrifying black-clad man, who was still staring down at him.

"I would have been kinder, if only for her sake," the man whispered in a rasping voice, as Ben's vision started to blur into darkness. "But my mind is too freshly returned to me to guarantee that my magic would kill you instantly."

Mind? Returned?

Oh my God...

This was one of Glory's victims!

No wonder he was pissed off!

"Should you see your... partner," the man continued to talk softly, clinically, as the darkness seeped in from the edges of Ben's vision, his lungs burning. "Tell her that she will never again have the privilege of harming Summers, or her sister."

Trying to plead around the man's hand, Ben knew that this was it.

He was facing death, a death he should have faced up to long ago, if only to stop Glory from running rampant as she had for so long.

Slowly, he closed his eyes, nodded and stopped struggling.

8.8.8.8.8.8

"That's good, right?"

Back to back with Cordelia, Xander nodded. "We didn't go boom," he said, lunging with the long spear, as Cordelia swung an axe in the opposite direction. "And Glory was screaming, so I say yeah."

"Apart from big chunks of the tower falling and almost killing us all by impaling us with pointy bits of metal?" Cordelia glanced over her shoulder at him. She was smiling and Xander couldn't help grinning back at her.

"Just like old times," he quipped then swore when the end of his spear stuck in a demon's hide. Stamping on the chest and tugged at the spear, he yelled as it hissed and grabbed at his ankle with a clawed hand.

An axe swung down in front of his eyes and the arm fell loose, the fingers still twitching around his ankle. "You mean me saving your ass from all those demons that want you so badly?" Cordelia retorted, then threw herself against him, knocking him flat.

Blasts of light scorched over their heads, blazing scarlet.

Two furred shapes loped passed them on all fours, snarling, and tackled the wizards who had been aiming their wands at the pair of Americans.

"You guys gonna lie around all day?" Gunn swooped down and pulled them both upright, then winced as he looked beyond them at the two werewolves. "Damn. Don't ever let me get on the wrong side of those guys."

"I'm not looking," Cordelia insisted firmly, then pushed passed Gunn and ran at another demon, bringing the axe down on top of its head.

His head on one side as he watched her approvingly, Xander blinked when Gunn nudged him. "Huh?"

"Drooling kinda not what we're needing right now," the older man said with a knowing grin. He pulled a machete from his belt and pushed it into Xander's hand. "Spear's screwed anyway. Acid blood."

Xander looked down at the knife. "Thanks."

Gunn had already run back into the fight.

There were wizards, demons and monsters everywhere. It made it trickier. Normally, human versus demon was good enough, but when the good and bad guys were all firing off spells and waving weapons, it was less black and white about who was evil.

"Head's up!" Faith's yell gave him notice enough to side-step a low-flying wizard, who had been punted through the air with incredible force. He hit one of the stone columns and crumpled in a heap at the bottom.

"Nice shot!" Ron's voice shouted from behind Xander.

"Xan!" Faith jerked her head beyond Xander. He swung around, then swore, knocked Ron to one side and lashed out with the machete. It caught a scaly demon across the eyes, blood gushing over his hand and spraying onto the ground. The demon screeched and clutched at its face.

Wiping a smear of blood from his face, Ron jerked up his wand and send a blast of light at the demon. It went rigid and fell over. "Thanks," he said, grabbing Xander's hand and scrambling to his feet.

"Team work," Xander replied. He looked at the bloody knife in his hand. "Can you make this bigger?"

Ron raised an eyebrow.

"Don't say it," Xander groaned. "C'mon!"

A tap of the wand, and the knife doubled in length. "Better?"

"Overcompensating," Xander said cheerfully, then nodded towards the heated fighting. "Shall we?"

Ron looked around the battleground. "I think," he said with a nod. "We shall."

8.8.8.8.8.8

Scrambling along the narrow ledge, from which Malfoy had vanished minutes earlier, Buffy managed to reach Dawn. She had seen him start to cut the younger girl, her sister's blood already trickling steadily down her sides and dripping down into the gleaming portal below.

The teenager was staring down at the ground so far below them, a look of despair on her face. Her eyes were on a figure on the ground, a figure with blond hair, crumpled in a pool of blood. She didn't even seem aware of Buffy until the Slayer was right in front of her and she raised her head, startled.

"You!"

Buffy grinned at her. "Told you I'd always get you back, Dawnie," she said. "We're gonna get you outta here."

Beneath them, the glowing portal crackled and flared outwards. It cast eerie light over the two girls at the summit of the wobbling tower.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It wasn't meant to work. I thought it wouldn't work." Dawn whispered as Buffy rapidly reaching for her sister, ignoring the magical barrier that was bruising her skin as she freed Dawn's retied wrists.

"It's not your fault, Dawnie," Buffy's hands - numb with cold - fumbled with the re-tied knots, freeing Dawn's slim wrists and she barely registered the sound of a pop behind her until Dawn screamed.

"NO!"

Buffy's head jerked up to see Dawn's horror-stricken face, only for her to feel a blow to her gut, painful and hard, like a badly-landed punch.

Hazel eyes looked down, shocked, to see a black-gloved hand and a handle of a knife pressed against her belly. Dark red was spreading up her cream shirt and she blinked in surprise.

Why was the hand holding a handle of a knife?

That was kinda stupid, really.

The gloved hand pulled away, another hand gripping her tightly by the top of one arm, and she stared in astonishment as a long blade, smeared with blood, was pulled out of her body.

She had been stabbed?

One hand rose and touched the wound, which felt oddly... painless, dark blood warm and gleaming on her shaking fingertips. "Oh..." she said, genuinely surprised and strangely numb. "I'm bleeding..."

Raising her face to Dawn, who was shaking her head, she looked over her shoulder, confused. Grey eyes looks back at her, from a pale, pointed face, upon which a cruel smile was locked.

"You should have been more cautious, Miss Summers," Lucius Malfoy suggested as Buffy blinked numbly at him. Her body felt odd, kind of... fuzzy and not all there. She aimed a punch at him, but staggered.

"Bastard," she whispered, her vision blurring.

Malfoy gave her a cruel smile, before jerking her backward, hard, and hurling her over the lip of the low platform. Buffy vaguely registered Dawn's cry of rage and shock, echoed by another howl from further down the tower, before she blacked out as she fell.

8.8.8.8.8.8

Hexes and charms were being cast in every direction across the open ground around the stone circle with such speed that it was impossible to see which side anyone was fighting for. Shards of blazing light ricocheted the huge boulders, rebounding off counter-curses.

Flanking one another on the east side of the circle, casting spells more rapidly than any two people with a combined age surpassing twelve centuries should be permitted to, Anya and Dumbledore blocked the only physically available exit.

Muggle barriers had provided an element of restriction, especially for the demons and Muggles dragged into Glory's battle, but wizards were still able to escape and many had done so.

Since the initial opening of the portal above the circle of stones, human enemies had decreased in number dramatically, as shocked awareness and terror had replaced awe and greed.

Bodies lay thickly on the ground, some still moving, others jinxed and inert until the casters undid their work. And among them, there were those who were lost, now nothing more than obstacles among the rubble, killed by enemies, monsters and the ruins of the tower collapsing around them.

Over and around these unfortunates, the battle went on. Glory was nowhere to be seen, despite the shimmering blue light cast by her doorway from the mortal plane, though many of her minions and victims continued to battle.

They were no longer the only ones, though.

Despite the fact that only two or three had moved into the middle of the circle, the smooth grass around the stone circle was buckling and ripping open as creatures and shadows seemed to break up through the ground itself with the slow ferocity of lava.

Swinging the heavy troll hammer that had become her weapon of choice, Faith caught two black-clad wizards simultaneously, sending them hurtling through the air and crashing against the outside of one of the vast stones of the monument.

"Nice shot!"

Just as she was throwing a grin at her lover, Faith's expression altered and she hurled the hammer towards Sirius. With a yelp, he dropped flat and, two paces behind him, heard the wet thump of the huge hammer smash into something.

Risking a glance over his shoulder, he winced at the sight of the huge weapon lodged firmly in an unfortunate demon's head, the handle sticking up into the air. "I repeat what I just said," he mumbled, half-rolling only to get hauled up by his collar.

"Can't watch your back all the time, Black," the Slayer grinned at him, slapped him firmly on the backside. She disappeared off into the fray again, ripping her hammer from the demon's head as she passed.

Aware he was still staring rather goofily after her, Sirius hastily turned his attention to a couple of demons causing trouble to several persons of the red-haired persuasion.

"Weasley! Down!" Around the stone circle, half a dozen people dropped, making the Animagus grin as he cast a scourging charm and blasting the ugly beasties, ignoring the shouts from several more people of the red-haired variety. "What? Not my fault you're everywhere!"

"Move!" A body barrelled into him with enough force to knock him off his feet and through one of the stone archways, landing on torn turf. He found himself flat on his back on the ground with Harry crouched over him, wand upraised and blazing. "You _have_ to stop talking!"

"Playful banter!" Sirius countered, casting a spell over the younger man's shoulder and knocking a wizard flat. "Need it in a decent fight. Slayers proved that."

Scrambling upright, Harry summoned a fallen knife, eyes darting around. "Yes," he agreed, pulling Sirius behind one of the stones for shelter. "But Slayers are super-powered and heal much quick than you do, so I would leave it to them, if I were you."

Then he was gone, vanishing in the dust-misted chaos, leaving Sirius alone again.

Petrifying another of the victims of the Goddess, Sirius stumbled back over what he took to be a spar, only to find himself looking down on the face of the blond-haired pet vampire of Minerva McGonagall.

What expletive was about to escape him was cut off by a patter of some kind of warm rain, which he raised a hand to wipe off his face.

Rain which was...

He stared at his fingertips, then looked up, through the swirling maelstrom of what seemed to be some kind of vortex and through it, distorted almost beyond recognition, he saw figures and one of them was...

"Weasley!"

He didn't care how many of them turned on him, but the one that counted apparently heard and followed his gaze.

Like him, she had fallen into the less-than-safe area within the circle. Through the dust and the smoke, he saw the colour flee from her face, saw her dart forward and drop to one knee.

"What are you doing?!" he cried out, but his words were overruled by Hermione's scream; "WILLOW! NO!"

Before either of them could move, the red-haired witch thrust her fingers into the ground in the dead centre of the stone circle, a silent blast of light exploding outwards from her, sending everyone around her to the ground.

8.8.8.8.8.8

Snape had been halfway to Summers, when he had looked up at the tower to see Malfoy apparate behind her, a knife in his hand. He would have shouted a warning to her, but it wouldn't have reached her, as he was too far and too breathless, scrambling up the swaying levels of the tower as quickly as he could.

A surge of molten fury and terror had burned through him when he saw that same knife plunge into Summers' small, fragile body and he ran as fast he could to the edge of the unstable tower, jerking out his wand.

Malfoy had swung Summers and tossed her over the lip of the platform they were on, dropping her straight down the edge of the tower. Snape knew his mind was still too freshly returned for magic to be any use, a cry of fury ripping from his throat.

"SEVERUS!" Granger's scream reached him and he looked down wildly.

Near her, her red-haired lover was kneeling, one palm spread on the ground, the other raised, splayed towards them. She seemed oblivious to her hair whipping wildly around her face, white bleeding into the red. Power was ripping out from her and he saw the Slayer's body hitch in the air, wheeling into towards the side of the tower, but still falling rapidly.

His eyes were on the Slayer, but he could see the moment Weasley's connection with the blonde broke, Summers' descent increasing in speed. Weasley had expended so much energy in restoring his mind, he knew, and connecting with the pure magic of this place had probably drained of her all she had left. It was most likely unconscious, or close to it once more.

Hurling his wand aside, he leaned out as far as he could through the squealing girders and cables, one arm locked around a girder and stretched out an arm as she plummeted downwards, close enough for him to reach.

If he missed...

If she slipped...

He wouldn't!

He couldn't!

Somehow, he would never be able to say how, he jerked her body out of the air, his arm locking around her and jarring his shoulder agonisingly as he was almost pulled out and dragged down with her.

Pain!

By the Founders, it hurt!

His left arm, the one bound around her waist, felt like it was about to tear free from its socket, but he held tightly, gritting his teeth together until he could taste blood and his throat felt raw.

She was a dead-weight, but still so light.

His arm that was locked tightly around the girder was burning and he felt his hand slipping on the metal, his teeth gritting together, but he wouldn't let her go. He wouldn't let her fall.

Bracing his legs against the side of the tower, he started to pull her upwards, his other shoulder in as much pain as the first. Something had torn in his arm, but he didn't care as long as Summers was safe.

Staggering backwards, he fell hard to the floor of the level, Summers' body falling on top of him, hot warmth spilling over his hands as he struggled to sit up and turned her over, her shirt soaked with blood.

"Summers," he whispered urgently, his eyes burning at the sight of her nearly-grey face, gathering her against his chest. "Summers, dammit, don't you die on me... don't you even think about dying on me..."

She was so still...

Shaking her as hard as he dared to, he touched her pale throat, searching for a pulse, a frighteningly faint one fluttering beneath his fingertips like the feeble beating of a dying butterfly's wing.

"No. Summers. No." His eyes felt like they were burning fiercely. "Don't you dare, Summers. Don't you bloody dare." His hand, shaking, pulled her shirt up from her stomach and he pressed his hand against the wound hard, to stem to bubbling flow of blood. "Don't you dare!"

Groping desperately for his fallen wand, he dragged it over the ragged wound, again and again, his mind pulsing agonisingly with such focused effort on healing the wound.

Every spell he whispered was raw, breathless, blood striping her skin. Frustration was rife on his face, but still, he snarled the spells, as if his wand and not his useless, weakened mind were the cause.

Then, inexplicably, wonderfully, the wound seemed to shrink, closing beneath the gleaming tip of his wand.

Hazel eyes blinked weakly open, a rasping breath escaping her. "D-Dawnie..."

"No!"

In his thoughts for catching her, his attention had been ripped from the Slayer's younger sister, both of them looking towards the platform at the top of the tower, where Malfoy was standing before Dawn. A faint shimmer of a shield between them faded and he reached out, taking Dawn by the neck, her blood still streaming down into the portal beneath them.

Dawn was forced to look down at them then raised her eyes to Malfoy, a strange expression on her face. A sudden movement yanked the wand from his hand, hurling it over the ledge, and into the whirling maelstrom.

Malfoy cursed, striking out with his hand. She staggered, then said something to Malfoy, inaudible to Snape, which made Malfoy freeze, staring at her. The teenager's smile was so calmly collected it was as if she weren't standing on the lip of a portal into hell.

Malfoy grabbed her arms, shook her almost violently, shaking his head. The girl studied him then looked down at the portal beneath them. Whatever she said was enough to capture his attention and, in that moment, Dawn's blue eyes returned to Snape and Buffy.

Black eyes were captured briefly by blue ones.

_Tell her it had to finish this way. She will understand_.

Snape winced at the words ringing so clearly in his head, staring at the girl.

Then, turning and catching the front of Lucius Malfoy's robes, she launched herself backwards off the tower before Malfoy could pull away, her body weight apparently taking the wizard with her, his stolen wand preventing him from apparating to safety.

"DAWNIE!" Jerking in Snape's arms, Buffy's voice rose to a wild scream.

Snape felt like his heart had been crushed in his chest, his eyes wide in horror, as the teenager and the wizard fell out of sight, his arms tightening around Buffy, as she screamed out her sister's name.

He swallowed hard.

Once.

Twice.

She couldn't possibly survive.

No one could survive that.

"Summers..." He could barely find the words to speak, as the Slayer sagged against his chest, sobbing, shaking her head in denial. Tears were stinging and burning down his cheeks too. "Summers, I'm sorry."

In his arms, the Slayer slumped completely, safe in the hold of unconsciousness and Snape let tears of rage, despair and, yes, grief fall.

"I'm sorry, Summers," he whispered again, against her brow. "I'm sorry."


	67. The Ruins

THE RUINS

Picking himself up amid the ruins at the base of the tower, Harry Potter surveyed the scene. So many people dead, all because one person had wanted something so badly. It had happened before, and seeing it again was just as horrific.

Only moments earlier, the gaping portal halfway between the ground and the peak of the tower had imploded inwards with the force of a lightning bolt. Anyone who had still been standing was knocked to their knees, stunned by the impact and the wave of power that dissipated so forcefully.

With effort, he had picked himself up, looking around for his wife and his friends. He was barely able to pick out anything. His wand shook in his hand, and he cast an illuminating charm, though it seemed dull compared to the blazing light of Glory's portal.

"Anyone?" he called out, his voice rough.

"Here." It was Arthur Weasley's voice. There was a clatter of stone and creak of metal, and a shape rose, lifting a hand in salutation. Molly scrambled up beside him, and Harry nodded, picking his way towards them carefully.

"Ginny?"

"She went off that way, with the boys, " Molly replied, pointing towards one of the few parts of the circle that seemed to be upright. Dozens of the stones seemed to have cracked and broken. She looked anxiously back in the other direction. Something was glowing, more powerfully than a lumos. "Rupert was watching Willow over there."

"You find Willow," Harry said quickly. "I'll find the rest."

Molly nodded, squeezing his arm, before carefully making her way in the direction of their youngest child with her husband. Harry watched them go, then clambered down over the rubble, wincing as a ragged piece of metal scraped across his calf through his jeans.

The survivors were gradually emerging from the ruins. Cordelia was supporting Bill, illuminated by the light of Bill's wand. Neither of them seemed badly hurt, though both of them were soaked in blood. Harry passed Fred patching up Amy's cuts, Percy squatting beside her and wrapping a strip of cloth around his bloodied arm, but he could see no sign of Ginny anywhere.

Walking through the bodies that littered the ground, a jolt of shock struck him beneath his breastbone when he saw a face he recognised staring blindly up at him from the ground.

"Oh God..."

"Harry, you all right?" Ron's voice seemed deafening. He was limping out of the darkness, wand raised, accompanied by the dark-haired Slayer, who was leaning heavily on him, blood sticky on her face.

Nodding towards the body of a young man around the same age as him, Harry was unable to speak. He slowly walked forward, kneeling down beside the body of Draco Malfoy. He had fallen halfway into the circle, his body half-buried by the shattered rocks and impaled on spars that had broken off tower.

"Oh Hell... Malfoy... is he...?"

Harry wet his lips nervously, nodding. His hand shaking unbearably, he reached out and closed the other young man's grey eyes. Draco's blood was still warm against his fingertips and he bowed his head.

"Friend of yours?" Faith asked softly.

Ron shook his head. "Old enemy," he replied equally softly.

Faith looked from the body to Harry's face. She recognised his expression. She had seen it on Buffy's face, when the blonde had fought her two years earlier.

Rising back to his feet, his head bowed for a moment, Harry exhaled a breath. "I-I didn't know that he was here," he said, his voice shaking. "I never thought I would see him... like..."

Harry's words trailed off, what colour was left in his face bleaching out. Horror and dismay spread on his face and he shook his head.

"Mate?"

"Harry?"

Harry raised his wand, letting the light spread like a spotlight. Ron and Faith both followed the direction that he was looking in, seeing what he was seeing. Faith's hand jerked to her mouth and she swore.

Running forwards, she scrambled over pieces of the tower and fallen stone, towards the two bodies sprawled on the ground in the middle of the what had been the ancient stone circle.

The Slayer ignored the impeccably-clad figure of the man, limply lying on the ground. Silver-blond hair spread around his head, blood and the grey spill of his brains spreading outwards from his shattered skull, cracked on impact with the ground.

It was the figure of the slim, dark-haired teenager that had her attention.

"D?" Her hands shaking wildly, Faith turned Dawn's body over into her arms. "D, baby? Can you hear me?" The girl's head lolled back in the crook of the dark Slayer's arm. "D... baby sister..."

There was barely a mark on the girl's body, nothing like the hideous damage inflicted on the wizard lying dead a few feet from them. The only wounds were those narrow scratches inflicted by the knife on the tower, and the bruises from bonds, her expression serene.

Her hand trembling, Faith hesitantly touched the girl's white cheek, her dark brown eyes stinging furiously.

"D?" she whispered desperately. "C'mon, D. Don't do this to us. Not now. Don't you be dead." Her fingers sought out a pulse in Dawn's throat but found nothing, her shaking hand coming to her mouth and she shook her head. "Oh God... D..."

"Is..."

Hugging the teenager's body tightly to her, Faith could find no words to reply to Ron's barely-asked question, as the sobs came, cradling the other Slayer's little sister in her arms, one hand stroking through Dawn's hair.

A clatter of masonry made her jerk around, still cradling Dawn protectively, her expression ugly, but giving way to quiet relief as Spike scrambled from between broken spars, bloodied and limping.

"Slayer," he nodded, grinning slightly, as he swayed on his feet. His eyes dipped downwards, then widened. For a moment, he neither moved nor blinked. "She all right?" he mumbled, nodding towards Dawn. "Took a bit of a tumble?"

Faith couldn't reply, shaking her head, her cheeks shimmering with silent tears.

"C'mon, Slayer," Spike's voice was tight with pain which was more than simply physical. "She's all right. Nibbles always is." His eyes flickered between blue and gold and he swayed on his feet. "Tell her to stop being so bloody lazy."

"Spike…" Harry said softly, approaching the vampire. "Spike, she's gone."

"No, she bloody hasn't!" Spike's voice cracked as it rose in volume and shrillness. "Don't say that, you stupid arse! She'll hear you talking about her."

"Spike." Harry reached out, took Spike's shoulders, staring at him. "Spike, listen. Spike!" The vampire tried uselessly to shy back, to look anywhere but the man in front of him. "Spike, she's dead."

"No," Spike growled, pushing Harry aside and staggering towards Faith. "Don't be such a bloody twit, Potter. She's _not_ dead! The Slayer wouldn't let her be dead." Faith looked up at him and shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Don't you start, you daft cow…" His legs simply seemed to fold up beneath him, expression rife with grief and confusion, and he gave Dawn a hesitant shake. "Come on, Niblet. You prove Spike right, eh? Get up and show 'em, eh?"

"Spike, don't…" Faith whispered.

Ignoring her, the vampire turned accusing glares on Harry and Ron, who shied back from the anguished fury in his eyes. "Why are you just standing there? Do something! Do… do magic or something! Make it better! Make it different!"

"We can't," Ron was the one to whisper it. "We can't change things like this."

Abruptly, he was grabbed by the throat and slammed against the rickety metal of the still-swaying tower. "Can't or _won't_?" Spike snarled, his eyes shimmering oddly, his hands shaking at Ron's throat.

A hand was laid on his shoulder, gently squeezed. "They can't do anything, Billy," Professor McGonagall said gently. "No one can, not now." The vampire tried to shrug her hand away, tilting his face away from her. "Come on, Billy. Let Mr Weasley go."

A burned, blistered hand pulled back from Ron's throat, the man slipping out of the way, averting his gaze to the vampire's grief. Spike slowly looked over his shoulder. "Some use I was," he whispered. "Couldn't even get her loose. Couldn't even fight the sodding bastard up there."

"You did everything you could, Billy." Minerva kneaded his shoulders firmly. "You nearly got yourself killed trying to free her."

"But I _couldn't_ save her!" Spike snapped, his voice wavering. His hands leapt up, heels of his palms pressing against his eyes. "All I had to do was stop a human and I couldn't even do that. All I did for her was get thrown off a ledge."

Slowly, patiently, McGonagall turned him around, unsurprised when he lunged down and buried his face in her shoulder, wrapping his arms tightly around her, his whole body shaking.

How long they just stood there, they couldn't be sure, only knowing that moment by moment, more survivors emerged from the morning mists, bloodied and limping, but still on their feet.

Stroking Dawn's hair gently, Faith looked up when a hand touched her shoulder, her eyes flashing in warning.

Above her, Sirius stared down at the girl in her arms, any glib remark catching in his throat. Sagging to his knees, he slid his own arm around Faith with a gentleness that seemed beyond him, pressing his forehead to her temple.

"This... this isn't right," a plaintive voice said uncertainly, breaking the silence around them. "We beat the evil demon Goddess. We beat her. All her nasty minions are gone."

"I know, my dear," Dumbledore's voice was soft, but trembling slightly. He was leaning on her, his face pale by the light of wands borne by the survivors.

"But we beat her!" Anya's voice rose emphatically, shrill with emotion. "We beat her! How can Dawn be dead if we beat the evil demon Goddess? She's younger than all of us! She shouldn't be dead!"

"Anya..."

"Don't!" Pulling away from him, Anya raised her hands as if to force away his words. "Don't tell me this is _right_! Don't tell me that it should have happened! She's dead and she's just a little girl! Young people aren't meant to die!"

"Shut up, demon girl!" Spike rounded on her with a snarl. Tears were blazing as brightly as sunlight on his face, his eyes golden, feral. "We're not bloody stupid! We know she's dead, all right? We _know_!" He stared at the former demon, his features crumpling as he repeated faintly, "We know, all right? S'not right. We know."

Her lips pressing together in a thin line, Anya uttered a faint sound in her throat, shaking her head. "I-I don't want Dawn to be dead," she whispered. "She was just getting so interesting and now, she won't anymore. She'll just be fourteen forever and she won't come into the magic shop anymore or sneak me cookies when her mom wasn't looking or... or finish school..."

"An," Xander's voice was quiet. Supporting himself on the end of an axe, he limped towards Anya. He reached out, gently wrapping an arm around the former demon. "An, we know." Smoothing her hair, he held her close to him. "She was way too young."

Burying her face in his shoulder with a muffled sniff, he heard her wetly mumble, "I hate being mortal."

Nodding, one hand comfortingly rubbing her back, Xander looked around at the pale ring of faces. "Buffy," he said carefully, as though he was having difficulty forming the words. "Where is she?"

Ron's eyes darted towards the still-swaying tower. "She was going up there," he mumbled, not meeting anyone's gaze. "Thought I saw Snape going after her..."

"I'll check," Sirius scrambled to his feet. "Not injured." He ran lightly through the ruins, disappearing into the darkness. Ron took his place by Faith, rubbing the Slayer's shoulder, as Faith gently stroked the dead girl's hair.

"Willow?" Xander murmured, looking over at Dumbledore. "She got Snape back?"

"And many more," Dumbledore replied, approaching and gently drawing Anya to him.

Xander stepped back and looked down at Dawn. He wrapped his arms over his chest. "I guess," he said, his voice cracking as Cordelia approached and touched his arm. "I guess that's something." He looked around at them. "Is everyone else...?"

"Some injuries," McGongall said tersely. "We should find anyone who was hurt."

"Yeah," Xander murmured. "Faith?"

The Slayer gently lifted Dawn's body up in her arms. "I'll take care of little D until we're set to head back," she said quietly. "We meet where Red is. She's glowing again. Got her until we got sun-up."

Around the ruins of the stone circle, the soft glows of wands moved off into the darkness.

8.8.8.8.8.8.8

The sky was beginning to change colour on the edge of the horizon.

At the edge of the collapsing tower, two men were supporting a limp, blonde figure between them. For once, they weren't talking, and the girl was walking as if blind, her feet catching on broken rock and metal.

Like everyone else, her clothing was stained with blood and dirt, her face pale and drawn.

"Buffy," Willow whispered, her own eyes half-closed, but it did nothing to subdue the glow that surrounded her. She was still propped against the stone that had been her power source, her hands resting against the stone.

Hermione looked up from her to the blonde, her expression one of pained sympathy. The witch's hands were burned, as if she had grabbed onto a electrical cable, her skin blistered and raw, but she seemed oblivious to the marks.

"Are you hurt?" she asked softly, getting to her feet.

The Slayer's lips trembled. Tears cut furrows through the dust on her face, and she stumbled, her hand trembling against Sirius's arm. He looked over her head, but Snape paid him no attention, his eyes on the Slayer.

"We need a portkey," he said. "At once."

Hermione nodded, her fingertips carefully picking up her wand. "I can only get you as far as the edge of the grounds," she said apologetically, forcing her hand to close around the wand, the blisters breaking open.

"It will be enough," Snape replied. One hand was holding the Slayer's to keep her upright, the other around her shoulders. He was swaying as much as the young woman, but seemed unaware of it.

With a brief incantation, Hermione cast the charm to turn a shard of metal into a portkey, then handed it to them. "Let Mrs Weasley know that we'll be coming soon," she said, squatting back down beside Willow. "She went ahead with George and Ginny."

Snape nodded curtly.

"Ginny?" Sirius asked suddenly.

"She's fine," Hermione replied, rubbed her face with her forearm, her other arm around Willow. "Just a bump on the head."

"I should find Harry."

"You're staying where you are, Black." Snape's voice was quiet, calm. "Summers needs more support than I can provide."

The two men exchanged looks, then Sirius nodded. "Fine," he said quietly, and guided Buffy's hand to the portkey. Together, they vanished, leaving Willow and Hermione in the shadow of the remaining standing stone.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked softly.

"Kinda all empty," Willow murmured. "Like something sucked all the juice outta me." Her eyes fell closed. "I know I should be sad. For Dawnie. But..."

"But you're rightfully tired," Hermione whispered, stroking her hair with her undamaged knuckles. "Are you sure you don't want me to try?"

Willow shivered. "Thought they'd come off by now," she whispered. "Power goes both ways." She tugged at her hands, then forced her eyes open. "You know how to do any spells to break me out?"

"I can try," Hermione agreed with a nervous shiver. She forced the tip of her wand against her lover's hand, half-imbedded in the stone. "If this hurts..."

"I'll know you're doing the best you can," Willow replied, leaning sideways to give her more room. She turned her face away. "Look." Her eyes were falling closed again. "Someone should tell Spike the sun's coming. Can't hang around and be toasty."

"Spike!" Hermione called out. "Willow said you ought to get out of the sun."

Willow laughed weakly. "Thanks, baby," she whispered, then cried out softly as Hermione started to try to break her free.

Sitting on a fallen stone, further around the broken circle, Spike looked over in the direction of the two witches. Smoke was curling up from the glowing end of his cigarette. Ash was nearly an inch long. Probably should actually inhale.

"You should listen, Billy," Minerva McGongall sat on the edge of the rock beside him. Her hair had come loose, and strands were clinging to her cheeks. There were tears in her robes and she looked exhausted. "A flaming suicide might be a grand gesture, but I don't think it's one she would appreciate."

"Why? S'not like I'm any bloody use here, is it?" He tapped the cigarette and the ash scattered over his ripped jeans. Bloody typical. He glowered at the cigarette, flicking it away. "At least you did something useful, ducks."

"You fought, Billy," McGonagall said quietly. "That was worth a lot."

"Yeah, yeah, valiant battle, all well and good until a bloody ponce throws me onto a mess of spikes and leaves me lying and watching the Nibs throwing herself to her death, because I didn't bloody get there in time." He stood suddenly. The rocks shifted under his feet and he stumbled. "I might as well have been one of that bitch's nutters for all the help I was."

"So you'll wait for the sunrise?" she asked quietly, after watching him pace and stumble on the uneven ground for several silent minutes. "After she killed herself to stop this world being blasted to Kingdom come? I thought you were a better man than that, Billy."

He stopped pacing and looked over into the East, where the sky was turning paler shades of blue and pink.

"I am," he said quietly. He turned and looked at her. "I have to go. I've got something I have to do." He gave her a brief smile. "And no, I can't tell you, because that'll ruin the surprise if it works."

She got up. "Do you need any help?"

Spike shook his head. "Just a portkey to somewhere I can hide out for the day," he replied, watching the sky slowly shading towards morning. "Somewhere dark and without any more fighting for a bit. I need a bloody nap."

McGonagall nodded, picking up an abandoned axe from the ground. "In case you need more than just wit and looks," she said, touching her wand to the handle. It shimmered for a moment, and she held it out to him. "Will you be back?"

He looked at the axe. "Might be," he replied quietly. "Thanks, Minnie."

She pressed the axe into his hand. "No 'might', Billy," she said. "You'll be back. I can't seem to get rid of you, no matter what I try." She stepped back and slipped her wand back into her robes. "Now, bugger off."

As the sun came up, Spike vanished.

"Professor?" Hermione called out to her.

Professor McGonagall nodded absently. She squinted against the sun for a moment, then rubbed her eyes. They itched dreadfully. So much dust and fatigue.

Making her way back to the two witches, she hesitated at the sight of bloodied strips of cloth wrapped around the unconscious Willow's hands. The stains were dark, and Hermione's hand was shaking around her wand.

"Is she all right?"

"I hope she will be," Hermione said quietly, without looking up. "Are we the last?"

Minerva looked around the desolation of Stonehenge.

"Yes," she replied quietly. "We're finished here."


	68. Unfounded

UNFOUNDED

Notes: I've actually been eagerly awaiting reaching this specific chapter for some time now, for two reasons in particular. No doubt you will recognise them, when we get there :) We're getting into the last straight, which is a great relief - only two more chapters and we're done :D

In the course of one night, everything had changed, but by the light of day, some things still didn't seem right.

Leaning unfeelingly on Snape and Sirius's arms, Buffy limped unsteadily towards the castle across the sun-washed lawn. Her face was drawn and pale, her clothing bloody. She hadn't said a word since she had come around at the base of the tower, eyes staring blindly in front of her.

Her mother would be waiting in the castle, and friends would probably be there already. They had been among the last to leave the field, waiting for her to regain consciousness, waiting for her to be ready to face reality.

Worried blue eyes looked down at her. "Is she going to be all right?" Sirius's voice was respectfully lowered.

"She just saw her younger sister kill herself, Black," Snape snapped, one arm around the woman's narrow waist. "How do you think she will be?" He hesitated, then looked over at the other man. "I don't know, if I must be honest."

Sirius nodded grimly. "Stupid question," he mumbled. He shifted his grip on her as they started up the staircase that led towards the doors of the building.

They were almost there when Buffy's boots squealed against the flagstones and blood-shot hazel eyes lifted to the panels of wood as if eyeing a deadly enemy. "I can't."

"Summers, you're wounded and your mother is awaiting you."

The Slayer stared wildly at the doors and shook her head. "I can't go in there. I can't tell her," she whispered. "I _can't_!"

"Summers, you did all that you could," Snape's voice was quiet, but there was an undercurrent of understanding that made Black look at him, surprised. Buffy opened her mouth to interrupt, but a thin finger touched her lips. "No, Summers. I assure you that there was nothing more you could have done."

Distraught hazel eyes stared at him. "But I..."

"You did _all_ that you could," he repeated.

She shivered between them, and pulled a hand free from Sirius. Behind her fingers, her tears were still visible. "We beat her," she whispered, her voice shaking. "We beat her, and Dawnie still..."

"All you could do, you did," Snape murmured. "Come, Summers. You must have your wounds tended to."

Slowly, she nodded.

Snape reached out to push the doors open. The schools seemed deserted, too early for any students to be up. Their footsteps seemed deafening on the polished floors, and the Slayer's breathing was quieter now, steadier.

They made their way through the schools, staircases redirecting them as they went, bringing them closer and closer to the infirmary.

"What happens now?" Buffy asked quietly. "Don't need to stay here anymore."

Snape shook his head. It was not the ending he had foreseen for any of them. "You have time to think on it," he said quietly, helping her up the staircase. "The world is safe for a time. You can rest."

She looked up at him, then blinked. "Did you just hear...?"

Snape stared at her. "Hear what?"

She didn't seem to notice him, turning her head. "Dawn?"

"Dawn?" Sirius echoed, looking from the girl to Snape.

"Summers..."

She pulled away from them both, limping towards the rail of the staircase. "Dawn?"

They could not deny there was a sound. Someone was calling something, but it could barely be made out. The Slayer's head jerked up, and she stared at something on one of the staircases high above them.

"Summers?"

"Ghosts are see-through, right?" she said, still staring up at something above them. "I mean, they don't have normal colour or skin or hair..." She screwed her eyes up, then her mouth fell open. "Or wear my robes!"

Snape's eyes widened and he leaned out to look where she was looking.

Five levels above them, a figure leaned over the staircase and flapped an arm at them in greeting. Dark blue robes flared around her as she ran down the staircase and the next, getting closer and closer. "Buffy! Hey!"

"Summers..." Snape murmured.

"That's totally not a ghost..." Buffy whispered and her face lit up. "Dawn!"

"Buffy!" The girl shouted again.

The Slayer laughed suddenly, brightly. "Dawn!"

Quite how a girl with a dislocated hip and the remnants of a stab wound ran up three flights of stairs to tackle a teenager he had seen kill herself, Snape couldn't quite be sure. Perhaps, he wondered, as Summers and her sister collided, Weasley hadn't been entirely successful in returning his mind to him.

"Tell me, Black," he said. "Have I gone quite mad?"

Sirius gave him a blank look. "You're asking _me_?"

Snape looked at him. "Yes." He nodded solemnly. "Quite, quite mad."

888888

"This is quite impossible."

Hermione stroked the half-conscious Willow's forehead. "Evidently," she said, her voice strained, "it isn't as impossible as you would have us think."

On the opposite side of the bed, Molly Weasley looked up at Madam Pomfrey. "Perhaps if we take her to St. Mungo's, they might be able to do something?" she asked. She looked as tired as every other person in the medical wing, pale, her face drawn.

Madam Pomfrey shook her head. "This is uncharted," she said quietly, apologetically. "I have tended her hands as much as I can, but as for everything else, I honestly don't know if there's anything that can be done."

"She had the abilities before," Arthur Weasley argued. "You can't just... lose your magical abilities."

"I am sorry, Arthur." Madam Pomfrey said, then frowned at a sudden commotion beyond the curtains. "Excuse me. I should see what has happened."

"She said the power went both ways," Hermione whispered, as Ginny sat down on the edge of the bed beside her twin, her own face still bearing bruises and healing cuts. "She took from it, so it took from her."

"She had to," Ginny said quietly, laying her hand over Willow's bandaged one. "If she hadn't, then it could have been a lot worse."

"But even if that's the case, it couldn't possibly strip her entirely of her magic," Arthur argued. "Even if it's taken some of her strength and her power, she would still have that natural ability to do magic."

"Ability, but no power," Hermione agreed, looking up at him. "Magical theory. You need the power to use your ability. If you don't have it, then you can't use your ability. Different levels of power mean different strength of witch and wizard. She was strong but there has to be some give and take."

Molly touched her daughter's cheek gently. "Will she be able to do magic again?"

Hermione shrugged helplessly. "It drained her," she whispered. "Drew her in. Took everything she had left. If Glory's portal hadn't exploded and knocked her out, then she might have been gone."

"Always did have to be all dumb and heroic." The family turned to see Xander standing at the foot of the bed, looking down at her. "I keep telling her that no one likes a show-off, but she goes and does it anyway." His smile was brief, sad. "That's my Will. Always doing the stupid, noble thing."

"That sounds accurate," Hermione murmured.

"And hey," Xander offered softly. "She's still alive. That's more than some people got."

"Very true," Arthur murmured. "How is Miss Summers? After her sister..."

Xander's smile was suddenly brilliant. "You didn't hear? Dawn's alive!"

The three Weasleys and Hermione stared at him.

"So, no, you hadn't heard, huh?" Xander beamed. "She just showed up!"

"Dawnie?" Willow's eyes opened weakly. "Dawnie's okay?"

Xander nodded, his smile widening as she looked up at him. "Dawnie's better than any of the rest of us," he said. "She just showed up. Said she came through the fireplace in Buffy's room, or something."

"But we saw her," Hermione said, dazed. "We saw her fall from the tower."

"And as far as I know, we brought her body back and had it all take care of," Xander said with a crooked grin. "But tell that to the person who just appeared and got hugged so hard that Buffy busted one of her ribs."

Willow laughed weakly. "Portal, thing, maybe? Secret doorway into Hogwarts?"

"Could be, Will," Xander said, patting her on the foot reassuringly. "You just get some rest, okay? You look all sleepy."

"Sleepy," she agreed in a murmur. "You go and see what's happening, k? And you tell me everything."

"Sleep first," he insisted, tucking the blanket more neatly over her foot. "Then we talk."

"K." Willow's eyes fell closed again, her bandaged hand twitching under Ginny's.

Hermione released a trembling sigh. "She's going to be all right, isn't she?"

Xander nodded with a brief smile. "We always are," he said. "It's part of the Scooby Code. Even if we die, we just keep on coming back for more." He slipped a hand into his pocket. "I think we need buttons."

"Buttons?" Molly asked faintly.

"Pin badges," he said. "Little ones. With the Scooby Code on. Maybe people would stop trying to kill us if they knew it wouldn't stop us." He patted Ginny on the shoulder. "Want me to tell that husband of yours to get his ass over here?"

Ginny nodded. "Please," she said quietly, cradling her sister's hand gently.

He smiled. "Look after her," he said, then pushed out through the curtains and onto the ward.

Every bed was occupied, some people he'd never seen before, but a lot of them familiar faces. Every chair that could be spared was occupied as well. What made it worse was knowing that there were a lot more people in the main magical hospital too.

Giles was standing beside Mrs Summers who was hugging both of her daughters, oblivious to the blood that was all over her clothes. He looked exhausted, dazed and relieved, but unaware of the blood escaping from a cut on his temple.

"Hey." Cordelia touched Xander's arm.

"Hey," he replied, turning to give her a smile. "We're both upright. That's new, huh?"

She laughed and kissed him on the cheek. "Guess there has to be a first time for everything," she said. "Did you see where Angel went? I'm pretty sure I saw him, but I didn't see where he went."

"Basement, I figure," Xander replied. "You want to tell him?" Cordelia nodded. "I'll find Faith and Gunn after I find Harry. Don't think either of them made it as far as here, so they won't know that she's back."

"You know where they are?"

Xander shook his head, then nodded towards a painting, the occupant of which was peering curiously over the edge of the frame. "But I can ask around," he said. "I think it's better if we're outta the way. Too many people in here already."

"Meet you back here?"

He nodded. "And then, we go and get food and sleep for a week."

Cordelia laughed. "I thought I was the one who could see the future," she said, as they walked towards the end of the ward.

8888888

"Ow!"

"Baby," Buffy said, her voice full of exhausted laughter, tear-tracks still visible on her dust-stained face.

Dawn grimaced as Madame Pomfrey bound up her cracked rib. "You didn't have to break me!" she protested, then winced again as she was set back against the pillows of the bed that had been reserved for the blonde Slayer.

Their mother was sitting on the opposite side of the bed, clutching Dawn's hand. "If she hadn't got to your first, I would have done the same," she said. There was a tremor in her words. "After what they told us. After they brought you back."

"Brought me..." Dawn's eyes widened. "Oh! Right! Yeah! That wasn't me."

"Yeah. You're all here and alive," Buffy said, nodding. "Would have been nice to know that when we saw you die."

Dawn blinked. "I died?" she asked quietly. "The me on the tower?"

Buffy nodded. "Jumped," she said softly. "The portal opened with your... the blood."

Dawn shook her head, confused. "But it wasn't meant to work. It was meant to be my blood. That's why she said she would go." She shook her head. "She wasn't meant to make any portal open."

"But it was you..."

"It was Mrs Malfoy, with Polyjuice," Dawn said softly. "We made it from the stuff you sent. We tried to turn Glory human, but it didn't work. So we used it instead. We thought if she used it, she wouldn't open any portal or anything, and you could kill her."

"But she opened a portal." Dumbledore's voice was quiet. All three turned to look up at him, where he was standing at the foot of the bed. "The only matter that does not change with Polyjuice is the soul within it. Since you were embodying her wholly, she became you in every respect but soul."

"So my blood was hers for a while..." Dawn closed her eyes. "That sucks. She was _good_. Even if she was married to a jerk, and had a jerk for a son."

"She was brave," Dumbledore acknowledged. "Though how you maintained her form, and vice versa?"

Dawn's lips twitched, but the smile didn't come. "That was what I got Duncan's help with, when we were playing with potions. Figured out a way to put it into pills, so I had to take one an hour and so did she. Like real Muggle medicine. I don't think Jerky Macblondie figured it out."

"Not until it was far too late. The choice to end it as she did was her own. She bid me tell you so." The curtain was discreetly drawn aside, and Snape approached to stand shy of Dumbledore. He looked down at Dawn, who waved her fingers tentatively. "Your initiative does you credit."

"You got your brain back," Dawn whispered, her eyes growing brighter.

Snape inclined his head slightly. "So it seems," he agreed quietly.

Her lips trembled as she managed to smile. "Yay!" she whispered, before her voice broke, and she was engulfed in a fierce hug from her sister.

The curtains moved again, slightly, and the Summers family were left alone together.

8888888

The young student shifted his feet self-consciously. "Am I in trouble?"

Professor McGonagall sighed, folding her hands on the desk. "I only wish to know how you were able to open a Floo pathway into a fireplace within the school, should Miss Summers be able to escape."

Duncan fidgeted with his cuff, shuffling his feet, as if looking sheepish would be enough to get him off the hook. After several minutes of awkward silence, he cleared his throat and mumbled, "I asked nicely."

"Asked who?" McGonagall said quietly.

Blue eyes rose and looked at her. "Dawn told me to," he said. "She sent me that message in the letter. That I had to get in touch with the Weasleys, because they knew someone, who knew someone, who would be able to help us."

Minerva removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes wearily. It felt like she had hardly had any sleep since she had returned from the battlefield. There was a belated brunch being held, for those still standing who had chosen to remain, but she had no stomach for it. Knowing there was open access to the school, even with the danger dealt with, was not a comfort.

"So the Weasley twins took part in this little escapade?"

Duncan Cameron nodded.

"So you put the security of the school at risk, by opening an illegal Floo channel..."

"It wasn't illegal!" Cameron protested with a touch of indignation. "And we made sure it was secure so only three people knew the name, so only two other people could have used it anyway!"

McGonagall's eyebrows rose. "How so?"

"The name," Cameron mumbled. "We gave it a name only we would know."

"And the three people?"

"Dawnie, and the man who set it up for us, and me."

McGonagall wanted to scream with weary frustration. "And this was counted as secure, when this man could have informed anyone?"

Cameron shifted awkwardly, then muttered something.

"Repeat," Minerva said quietly.

"Who would care?" he repeated in a mutter. "That demon-god-thing already had her. No one would care about being able to get into her place, and even if she'd wanted to escape, she told me they'd blocked the Floo network from that end anyway. She doesn't know why she was able to get out that way, but she tried it anyway, as soon as the Polyjuice potion wore off, so the demons wouldn't see her."

McGonagall stared at him for a moment as she understood.

As soon as both Malfoys had fallen, along with their son, the house would be Unpossessed and whatever spells and magics had protected it would have fallen away.

Without a Master, the house would not be protected. It would be a mere shell, and a mere shell does not have a locked Floo network. With the deaths of the Malfoys, Dawn had been freed to escape.

Perhaps Narcissa Malfoy had been aware of that, and had given her life to liberate the girl. Perhaps she had not. If her son had not died, perhaps she would not have been so willing to die herself, along with her husband.

It seemed, she thought, that tragic possibilities and coincidences had a lot to answer for.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she sighed. "I think, Mister Cameron," she said, "that you will lose points over this." He nodded mutely. "And see that you have the connection shut down, if Professor Dumbledore has not seen to it already."

"Yes, Professor McGonagall," he mumbled meekly.

She waved a hand, dismissing him, and sat back in her seat. It appeared that recklessness in youth was not limited to a single generation, but generally distributed in batches of idiotic courage in every age group.

She was still sitting there when there was a rap at the door.

"Yes?"

Rupert Giles leaned in through the door. "Professor," he said with a nod. "Dawn was wondering if you know where Spike is."

Rising from the seat, McGongall took her time pushing the chair back in. "I'm afraid I have no idea, Mister Giles," she replied. "He said he had something to take care of, and he would be back as soon as possible."

Giles nodded, watching her. "Have you eaten?"

"Concern, Rupert?"

He gave her an equally tired smile. "After a battle? Of course," he said, pushing the door a little wider. "I think there will still be a choice of food left, if we go down just now. The young ones have decided to catch up on some sleep."

"Not a bad idea," she admitted, walking towards the door stiffly. He offered her an arm, which she took after a moment. "Bear in mind I'm not entirely decrepit," she warned him as they set off down the hall.

Giles laughed quietly. "I deal with Buffy Summers on a daily basis," he replied, "and I have seen what her mother, sister and friends are all capable of as well. I've learned not to take women on face value."

Minerva managed a smile. "After so many years, you finally have learned something," she observed.

"And almost entirely from a cheerleader," he admitted. "What a world we live in."

8888888

His rooms were dark, safely familiar in their gloom. A fire flickered in the hearth, which had been cold for weeks, but his back was turned to it. Standing by his desk, the light of the Pensieve flickered and wavered as he looked at it.

It took effort to wrap his hand around his wand.

His mind had been returned, but that didn't make the risk of magic any safer. To reach into his own memories, a charm he had cast hundreds, if not thousands of times, when his mind was still healing was making him tremble.

He remembered.

He knew he remembered.

He knew who he was, who he always had been, and though some of the memories were coming back more slowly, they were there in full once more. He knew his mind, and the control he had retained, even in the absence of self, was there.

There was no reason to be afraid, when it was all down to his own self-control.

Perhaps that was why it was so very terrifying.

There was the lightest of raps on the door, but it was enough to make him whip around like a startled animal, wand raised. The door remained closed and he took a moment, his heart racing. Foolishness to be afraid now. She was gone. His mind was his own once more.

"Severus?"

Snape lowered his wand to rest on his desk, wondering if he had ever heard the Slayer use his forename before.

Crossing the floor, he opened the painting that served as his door. Summers was standing there. He had left her with her family in the medical wing only hours earlier, but already, she looked herself once more.

She glanced beyond him and he knew she saw the Pensieve, then looked back at his face, eyebrows drawing together. "Checking everything's back where it should be?" she asked quietly.

He hesitated. "Curiosity," he replied. "Of what precisely I saw."

"Dawn can tell you." She was watching him, quiet, calm. "You don't need to go back inside your head for that." She gave him a small, tired smile, and in that expression he could see the drain of the past days on her. "You just got everything back in there. Don't want to take it out again, right?"

He ought to have shrugged it off and dismissed it, but she was right.

"Perhaps so."

"Perhaps so," she echoed quietly. "It's been tough."

"I can quite believe it," he murmured.

Her hand took his. "C'mon," she said. "You look like hell." It was bizarre. She, after all, was the one who had been stabbed, pitched off a tower and left to die. "You're gonna get some rest and something to eat."

She pulled gently on his hand, and he did not resist.

Only a fraction of his mind had remained for so many days, but that part had clung to the fact that she would prevail, and remain as strong as he knew she was, even if he had never chosen to admit it. She was strong and she was worth some effort, even if she was an infuriating creature for the most part.

He let her lead him, trusting her.

It was a strange thing to realise, and stranger still to acknowledge a truth that he had known all along.

"And first," she said, giving him her familiar smile, "we're gonna wash your hair, because you would _not_ believe how gross it is."

"Summers," he half-growled in warning.

She only laughed and picked up pace, pulling him along with her.


	69. Echoes of Victory

ECHOES OF VICTORY

Notes: For the first time in about 20 chapters, a wholly new chapter. All the rest had fragments written. This one, I sit down to write in as a whole on February 14th 2008. Let's see how long it takes, shall we?

* * *

While things could never be described as being back to normal, it was a calmer time in the wake of Glory's defeat. Rumours were running wildfire through Hogwarts, and while there was no need for any of the Americans to remain at the school for sanctuary, a few of them seemed determined not to leave.

Some things remained the same, despite the disruption, and the chill in the dungeon air was at the optimum level to prevent students from drifting towards idle slumbers.

Watching the cauldron, Dawn Summers kept her mouth firmly shut.

"No' even one clue?" Cameron pleaded in a whisper.

"You can hope Sir Cranky's memory is still shaky," Summers the younger replied, her voice just as low, but she looked across the classroom. Severus Snape was back at his usual place, and in the spirit of victory, he had...

Well, he hadn't changed at all. His excessively coiffed hair deceptively belied the fact.

Students who had taken refuge in the knowledge that his mental ordeal would have rendered him weak suddenly found that they were expected to make up for lost time in his classes, and that potions exams were not cancelled, as they had hoped.

His quill was scratching across the parchment in front of him, but he had a sixth sense for when he was being watched, and he looked up and directly at her. He had to admit that the blue eyes weren't quite as bright and mischievous as they had been, but considering what she had gone through, it was hardly any surprise.

His eyes slid sideways to the cauldron of the boy next to her.

Cameron was a true inept when it came to the art of potion-making, and it seemed that his touch remained as hopeless as before. Purple and green bubbles were roiling on the surface, and the boy was scanning his book with a desperation that bordered on pitiful.

Raising an eyebrow, he looked back at Summers's sister, inclining his head mildly.

An American profanity rang out and he watched with wry amusement as the girl snatched Cameron's ingredients and quickly mixed together a combination. She cast them into the cauldron and with an unusual combination of clockwise and anti-clockwise stirs averted the explosion which had been looming.

"Cameron."

The boy went white. "Y-yes, sir?"

"Begin again. You will remain as late as you must to ensure you do it correctly this time." He paused as the boy scourged his cauldron with the charms he was so adept with, and he saw him shoot a hopeful, pleading look at the young Summers. "_Without_ aid."

It was hardly his most scathing barb, but he had more important things to remember and to arrange in his mind than his selection of insults for idiot youngsters.

He rose from his desk, robes settling around him, and noted with satisfaction that heads immediately ducked lower over cauldrons and cleaning up ingredients, none of them willing to share the unfortunate Mister Cameron's fate.

A distant gong sounded, and the alacrity with which the class dispersed was impressive.

Walking slowly to the back of the room, he stopped behind the Summers child, who was still sitting where she had been. Cameron was refilling his small cauldron, and trying his utmost to pretend he wasn't there.

"One would think idle hands would find something to do," Snape said quietly. "After all, you are no longer bound to the castle."

Her thin shoulders lifted and dropped. "I like seeing how the potions work out," she said, twisting on her stool to look up at him.

"And protecting your unfortunate ally," he observed.

She glanced over at Cameron, and he saw her smile. "Yeah," she murmured. "Can't leave him to be all chewed up by you." Her eyes returned to him and she almost grinned. "And you gotta admit that my polyjuice was pretty good."

"If somewhat illegal."

She laughed quietly. "Still worked," she said. The sadness returned to her face, and he understood why she wanted to hide away in the darkness. A life for hers, a life she had known and who had protected her.

"And it was her choice to take it and do as she did," he said quietly. "I don't think she would appreciate her noble end being wasted by an ungrateful spoiled American brat, who refuses to accept that she will live a trifle longer."

She stared at him, startled.

"Oh, do shut your mouth, Summers," he said dryly. "Surely you don't think I intend to join your parade of warm and tender sympathisers. I am myself, and I think you are being most tiresome, wasting your time hiding away in the dungeons."

"Hey!" she protested in annoyance. "I'm not hiding!"

"Yet, I cannot recall not seeing you here every day," he retorted, "and on each occasion, you seem to be staring into space and looking blank and empty-headed. If you would prefer, I have a nice selection of poisons if you wish to have done with it, but I would take it as a favour if you would stop moping around in my classrooms as if the end of the world is coming."

She crossed her arms and stuck out her chin, showing more spirit than she had in days. "Can't make me stop coming."

"I beg to differ, Miss Summers," he replied, matching her stance. "These are the chambers where one will find potions brewed and liquid magic concocted. These are _not_ the chambers where you will find day-dreaming teenagers. I believe the Astronomy tower is still readily available for that."

She squeaked indignantly. "You totally did not tell me to go and sit in old faker's room!"

"I do not see you making any potions," he retorted.

The girl stood up so suddenly that her stool crashed onto the floor. "You want potions?" she snapped, hands on her hips. "I'll give you potions, Mister." She stamped passed him and he hid a twitch of his lips as she stalked into his supply cupboard. From the depths, he could hear rattling and clinking and the mutterings of, "I'll make potions to make you smell of roses and be all flowery and frilly and oh, then you'll see what potions I can make. Trelawny! Ha!"

On the far side of the room, Cameron was standing by the water basin, staring warily at him, his overflowing cauldron dripping onto the floor.

Raising an eyebrow, Snape folded his arms again.

Cameron hastily returned to his flame with his cauldron. He glanced at Snape sideways and muttered, "Thanks, sir."

"For what, boy?"

There was a deafening clang of a medium sized cauldron landing on the floor, echoed by a loud and colourful profanity that sounded like it had been learned either from the vampire or from Sirius Black.

Cameron's smile was brief, timid. "That."

Snape snorted and turned sharply away from the boy, but he had to admit he understood.

* * *

It was raining, and not just a light shower either. The raindrops were pelting against the windows, rattling in the wind. It made the fire in the grate and the hot chocolates on the more welcome.

The room that had been the battle headquarters had been cleared and the table was occupied by all those who had chosen to remain, at least until the term had ended and the situation with Willow's health had been resolved.

"So it's permanent?"

Lorne smiled radiantly. "Honey, I get to sing and make beautiful music and do what I do in a _castle_!" he replied to Giles. "And I mean a real castle! Not just a cardboard cut-out. How many people do you know who'd kill for the chance?"

Giles smiled ruefully. "I'm afraid I must run in all the wrong circles," he said. "I'm sure your abilities will be missed."

Lorne shook his head. "Maybe them, but not me," he said.

"Fang'll miss havin' you around," Faith said, her leg dangling over the arm of her chair. "You're a demon and you were helping him. He kinda liked that. Not like he'll say it, but you know Fang."

"Well, if he needs me, he just has to pick up the cell and call," Lorne replied with a laugh. "Even if it's just for fashion advice for him to ignore. How many years with you girls and he still hasn't got passed tall-dark-and-black-wearing? I mean, please."

"Hey, don't blame me," Buffy said indignantly. "It's like a vampire bad-fashion sense. Do they _have_ to wear black and leather and red and be all cliche creature-of-the-night? No. I told him like a million times!"

"Guess they have to make it clear who the bad guys are so you don't miss, huh, B?" Faith said, grinning.

Buffy looked over at her, then at the scarlet-stitched black shirt and black pants.

Faith laughed. "Screw you," she said. "I'm in disguise."

"And it's hardly just vampires that wear black," Joyce Summers pointed out, looking over at Buffy. Dawn had been showing her the collection of wizarding photographs she had built up during her stay, and the younger girl looked up with a grin as well.

"Yeah," she said. "I know someone who _loves_ wearing black. All the time. Black flarey robes of black blackness..."

"Dawn!" Buffy exclaimed.

Xander grinned. "Why do I get the feeling she's not talking about Spike here?"

"Ew!" Buffy exclaimed. "No!"

Dawn frowned suddenly. "Where is he anyway?"

"Who?" Buffy demanded, blushing.

"Spike."

"Professor McGonagall said he had matters to attend to," Giles replied, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. "She said he survived the battle with minor injuries, and since he habitually turns up like a bad penny, I'm quite sure he'll return soon."

"Good," Dawn said. "I wanna know what he was doing with some of my stuff."

Buffy gave her a puzzled look. "When was he touching your stuff?"

"When I was all kidnapped and locked up," Dawn replied. "Duncan told me. They sorted the potions stuff for me and Duncan said Spike took something."

"You know vamps," Faith said innocently ignoring the door that had opened behind her. "All evil fiends."

"Takes one to know one," Angel said dryly. Faith leaned backwards over the arm of the chair and grinned at him. "You sure about this?"

"Sure as I can be," she replied. "You heading?"

Angel nodded. "The door'll always be open," he said, as she swung onto her feet.

"Right before the bars close," she reminded him. "You goin' back in your box or has double-D got some mojo for you?"

"Double-D?" Dawn spluttered.

"Box it is," Angel said with a rueful grin. "I prefer to know where I'm coming out. Knowing my luck, if we went with magic, I'd end up in some sorcerer's portal being used for something I'd rather not know about."

"Damn those naughty sorcerers and their portals," Buffy said with a laugh. She got up. "When do you leave?"

"We've got to get to London for a flight in six hours time," Angel replied. "I guess you've got to stay until the end of term?"

She smiled. "Got to be a responsible teacher," she agreed. She approached and rose on her toes to kiss his cheek. "You go home and make sure to kick some demon ass for me, while I'm still here."

"I'll make sure they knows it's from you," he agreed.

"How?" Dawn demanded, grinning. "You gonna start to wear pumps?"

Both vampire and Slayer looked at her in disbelief.

Dawn beamed proudly. "Save the world from a God and I can still wig you out!"

"Is she always so...?" Angel asked.

"And then some," Buffy agreed, but she was smiling.

* * *

"Wish I was there."

Hermione stroked Willow's hand comfortingly. "It's better that you're recovering," she said. "If you like, I could bring some of your homework in for you? After all, you can read again now."

Willow giggled sleepily. "Yeah," she agreed. "No more lamp-eyes."

The youngest Weasley had been given a private room in St. Mungo's and the drapes were closed on the coming evening. She was still pale and her hair had not yet returned to its normal colour, but the power that had strained her and seared her had faded somewhat.

"You do have exams coming," Hermione said and Willow opened her eyes to look at her reprovingly.

"Don't I get time off for saving the world?" she murmured. Her eyes closed again. "And it's not like I can really do much right now anyway."

"Don't talk like that," Hermione said firmly. "All the healers say you're improving by the day. You'll be back to your usual strength in no time."

Willw exhaled a breath. "Sweetie, I love you," she said quietly, "but you're not a very good liar. I listened to mom and dad talking when they thought I was asleep. Everyone thinks I've lost it."

"Not lost," Hermione corrected, her voice cracking. "You sacrificed it to save people. There's a difference. No one can ever say that you were or are powerless." She brushed Willow's hair back from her cheek. "You can always learn more about the history and practical sides of magic."

Willow's smile was weak and her fingers squeezed Hermione's on the blanket. "Guess I can go back to being the computer geek too," she admitted. "It's been way too long since I hacked into anything."

"That's something they don't have here," Hermione offered. "You could develop a wizarding internet network. I'm sure some of the Muggle-borns would be keen to use it, and it may be useful with Muggle and wizard relations."

Willow opened her eyes to look at Hermione, then smiled tiredly. "Yeah," she murmured. "I could do something like that. Computer magic." She looked at the cabinet beside her bed. "Do you think you could get someone to bring some of my stuff from Hogwarts?"

"Anything you like," Hermione replied. "Just give me a list."

Willow laughed quietly. "I _do_ have exams," she reminded her. "I shoulda kinda study a bit, even if I can't do anything with my wand. It'd be embarrassing to fail when I've been doing magic for so long."

Hermione smiled and leaned over the bed to kiss her forehead. "All your books," she said. "Anything else?"

willow hesitated. "Bring my wand too?" she asked. "I like to have it nearby."

The elder witch nodded. "I'll go and send an owl just now," she replied. "You get some rest."

Willow closed her eyes. "Thanks."

Hermione watched her for a moment, before slipping out into the hall and closing the door quietly behind her.

Alone for the first time since she had been brought to the hospital, Willow turned onto her side and reached out for the magic she had been able to touch for years, and all that she found was nothing.

Curling up, she squeezed her eyes shut. Tears quietly hit the pillow.

* * *

"You'll come by when you get back?"

Xander nodded. "You bet," he said with a grin. "You promised we'd go to Disneyland."

"That was years ago!" Cordelia exclaimed with a laugh.

"Never forgot," Xander replied, and a brunette fell into his arms, either calling him names or kissing him or perhaps a bit of both.

Several yards away from the pair, Faith leaned sideways. "You know you gotta sit next to little Miss Sappy on the plane, the whole way home, right?" she muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

"Why'd'you think Wes packed the tranq in his backpack?" Gunn inquired innocently.

Faith burst out laughing. "You know, G," she said, "I kinda wish you'd been around first time I came by. We woulda had one helluva time."

"Taking on Queen C?" Gunn said with a grin. "You bet." He looked over at the check-in counter, where Wesley was the last of them to check into the flight, then back at Faith. "You sure you wanna stay over here?"

She shrugged. "What do I gotta go back to?" she said. "I'm an escaped con and there ain't no way I wanna be back there. At least this way, I got some way to be useful, right? Kinda like B and the demon-teacher thing."

"And you got your own ex-con for company." He looked beyond her at the pair of wizards waiting discreetly out of the way, while the Americans said their goodbyes. "You ask me, that's a guy who _likes_ the chains."

She socked him on the arm, grinning widely.

He laughed. "Just call it like I see it, kid," he said, offering a hand. "You be good."

"I'll be good," she promised with a grin that was anything but and a roll of her hips that left little to the imagination. He shook his head, laughing again. "_Real_ good."

"You are quite reprehensible," Wesley observed, as he returned from the counter.

"And that's good, right?"

Wesley sighed, but his expression was warm. "In your case," he said, "most assuredly so."

She playfully punched him on the arm. "You gettin' soft on me, Wes?" she said.

"Softer than I already was?" he said with a small smile. "Keep in touch, Faith."

The Slayer nodded, sticking her hands in her pockets. "Yeah," she replied, then rolled her eyes. "And don't think I'm gonna get all huggy on you guys, just because we saved the world and kicked ass together."

Gunn and Wesley exchanged looks.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"No way! Wanna keep my ribs in one piece."

Faith rocked on her feet with a satisfied grin. "Got my rep to keep up," she said happily, then reached out to grab Xander by the back of his pants. "C'mon, Xan. Wanna get back to the castle in time for dinner."

"Those pants are spoken for!" Xander protested.

"You bet they are, Faith," Cordelia said, but she was smiling as she lifted her bag onto her shoulder, "and yours are waiting."

Faith's grin widened even more. "Always wanted a puppy..."

"And we have achieved a new level of gross." Xander swatted her hand away.

"Yeah, Xan," Faith laughed. "Been tryin' to find one to match you for years."

Xander rolled his eyes. "Safe trip, you guys."

"See you soon," Cordelia said, kissing him once more for good measure, before pushing one bag into Gunn's arms and another into Wesley's. "You guys better not wake me when I'm sleeping on the flight..."

As the two men trailed off after her, their answers unheard, Faith nudged Xander.

"You know you coulda gone back, Xan."

He shook his head. "Not yet," he said. "I want to be sure everyone's okay before I go."

She gave him a half-smile. "Always the hero, huh?" she said, then spun him around on his heel. "C'mon. We get back to the guys and we'll be in the castle for dinner before those guys even take off."

"Would have been easier if they could have gone by magic," Xander agreed, as they headed back to the group of wizards. "Lorne could have seen them off too. Makes me kind of glad to be normal-looking."

"Yeah," Faith snorted. "Bet he's green with envy."

Xander looked down at her suspiciously.

"What?"

"You," he said. "I'm not used to seeing a new, happy you."

She smiled, surprising herself. "Yeah," she admitted. "Me either." She elbowed him. "You guys shoulda told me that saving the world with an army was so damn cool! I woulda signed up before if I knew."

Xander waved dismissively. "Army of wizards, vampires, demons, explosions, chaos," he said airily. "It's what we do."

"You get more badass, I might be interested..."

"And I think that would be my cue to cut in," Sirius said, breaking away from Harry to offer a gallant arm to Faith.

Faith grinned at him. "Down, boy," she said. "He ain't a threat."

"Hey!"

"Sorry, Xan," Faith said, eyes dancing. "I like me some bad boy."

"Reformed."

"You still got a hog and your leash?"

Sirius went purple, while Harry snorted aloud.

"You know," Xander said to Harry, "I'm kinda glad I'm just heroic human material."

"You and me both," Harry agreed, grinning at his god-father's blushing indignation.

* * *

The staff meeting had gone entirely as expected. With less than a week until the exams, there were last details to arrange, and new examiners to be assigned positions, on account of several dealing with the results of the battle with Glory.

With a multitude of confused wizards, witches and Muggles adjusting to having their minds intact again, it was no small wonder that one or two examiners had chosen to take a leave of absence to help their friends and family members through their recoveries.

There had been a generous offer by Miss Emerson to provide her services, although Professor McGonagall was somewhat relieved that Dumbledore gently demurred, insisting her modes of magic were a little too antiquated even for him.

Quite how he would get himself out of trouble for his choice of wording McGonagall was sure she didn't want to know.

The meeting dispersed and she had retreated to her own rooms, but after weeks of far too much excitement, she wasn't entirely surprised when there was a clattering crash from one of the paintings in her study.

Pulling on her dressing gown, she illuminated her wand and made her way to the room.

"Dash it all, someone turned out the lights!"

"That would be because it is night," she replied, inwardly sighing at the sight of Sir Cadogan sitting in a heap in the single painting that adorned her wall. The other occupant had clearly fled, taking the only lamp with her.

The Knight peered out at her. "I was told to bring your Ladyship a message!" he informed her shrilly. "The master of the castle was most adamant that you would obey his boon!"

Minerva sighed. "And what is this boon?"

"Dear lady, he would like you to be aware that there is a stranger in the south west tower!"

Minerva froze. "A stranger?"

Sir Cadogan bowed gallantly. "A shabby rogue if ever I saw one, dear lady! Shall I seek him out and challenge him to a duel?"

She ignored him, turning and walking swiftly to the door. If it had been any great danger, she knew Albus would not have sent that buffoon of a knight as messenger. However, if it was a stranger, it was hardly likely it was one of their American allies.

The south west tower was closer to her rooms. That would be logical, but what stranger could breach the defences of Hogwarts if they hadn't visited before?

As she walked, there was a clattering in the paintings that lined the walls. "Dear lady! Wait!"

Ignoring the knight, she gathered the end of her dressing gown and made her way up the staircase.

He huffed after her. "You should not face a wicked Muggle alone!" he called out, leaning against the frame of a picture. "They are treacherous fiends!"

She paused. "Muggle?"

He tottered through several more pictures to catch up with her and nodded. "A poxy blaggard, a knave and a scoundrel!" he exclaimed. "His language was most rude! I vow I will smite the rogue!"

"A Muggle in Hogwarts?" she murmured, more to herself, then turned and started up the stairs again, wand gripped firmly in her hand. There were several more flights and she paused for breath before emerging on the main floor of the tower.

As the Knight had said, there was a shabby-looking individual. He was standing with his back to her and was looking up at a portrait of a leonine man with eyes that seemed to glitter with supernatural energy, although the painting did not move.

Pointing her wand at the stranger, she called out, "Who goes there?"

The Muggle turned. His face was bruised and stubble covered his chin, his clothing ragged and worn. Then, to her astonishment and shock, she recognised him as the blue eyes brightened and he smiled.

"Evening, Minnie," he said.

"Billy?" she said faintly.

"The one and only," he agreed.

She approached him cautiously. "But you..." There was colour in his cheeks and his eyes sparkled. "You're alive?"

He laughed. "Told you I had something to do," he said. "Since I was being a bit useless as a vampire, I thought I'd try life on the other side of the tracks." He jerked his head towards the painting on the wall. "Following his example."

"That was just a myth."

His hand touched her cheek and his skin was as warm as her own. "That feel like a myth to you?" he asked.

She stared at him. "You're really alive? Permanently?"

He nodded and grinned. "I look bloody good for someone past their centenary."

"Rather shabby, if I am to be honest," she said dazedly. "How?"

"Well, there might have been a little bit of cheating with the blood of an all-powerful being..."

Minerva stared at him in confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

"Nibbles," he replied warmly. "Brat had been doing experiments. Don't know many kids who keep labelled samples of their own blood under their bed." He spread his hands and did a little twirl. "Some trials, some torture, some punishment for bad behaviour, and here I am."

"It can't have been that simple."

He shrugged. "Nah, but I don't feel like going into details."

"What are you going to do?"

He laughed suddenly, warmly, and she was picked off her feet and spun around, shrieking in surprise. "Whatever the hell I want!" he said gleefully, "and you're going to teach me about being human again."

"Me?" she demanded.

He laughed. "Why not?" he asked. "Closest person to my own age. Can't be hanging around with the school girls anymore. I'll look like a dirty old man."

She eyed him, then smiled a little. "I think," she said, "this new life calls for something to eat because you're far too scrawny and a good, strong drink, and then you can tell me what on earth possessed you to be so idiotically melodramatic."

He set her down, beaming. "And that's why I chose you, Minnie," he said. "Always about the sensible course of action."

"Imbecile," she said fondly, taking his arm.

* * *

Hermione had returned to Hogwarts.

Willow figured it was selfish to hog her, especially with the major exams for the kids at the school, so she had assured Hermione that Xander could help her. He'd done pop quizzes for her and pelted her with questions from the books until she knew she wasn't going to remember anymore.

"It is kind of like weird science, isn't it?" he observed, closing the book of arithmancy.

"I guess so," she replied with a smile. She still didn't have enough strength to get up and walk around, but she was sitting upright, cross-legged on the bed. "Like physics with another dimension in it."

"Space, time and magic, huh?"

Willow laughed. "And magic sticks," she said, patting the box that contained her wand.

"Ze Dr Villow unt her magic sticks, ja?" he inquired.

She laughed again. "I'm glad you stayed," she said, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "It's not like I don't like being in hospital, but..."

"But you don't like being in hospital," he finished, giving her a crooked smile. "No biggie. The only trouble I had was getting Hagrid's present passed the witches downstairs. You'd think they'd recognise muffins when they explode."

"You brought exploding muffins?" Willow demanded, laughing. "I thought they tasted okay."

"Those were store-bought." Xander raised his hands innocently. "I know better than to feed a sick person cakes Hagrid made. I only carried the box. They're the ones who opened the box and caused a backdraft."

"He does know cakes aren't meant to explode on contact with air?"

Xander grinned. "I didn't have the heart to tell him."

"He's a nice guy," Willow acknowledged, "but he's not a baker."

"Or a cook," Xander agreed. "He insisted on making me and Harry toad-in-the-hole, while we filled him on everything. Harry managed to escape, but I asked Giles about it later. I _knew_ it wasn't meant to be made from real toad."

Willow dissolved into helpless giggles.

Xander patted her on the leg. "You want anything from the cafe?" he asked. "All this talking about Hagrid's cooking has made me want to remember the taste of real, good food." She gave him a look. "Okay, real hospital food."

"Find me something sweet?" she asked.

"Like you?" he replied, then kissed her on the forehead. "Back soon."

As soon as he was gone, she picked up the one book they hadn't opened yet: charms.

There were notes stuck all over it, emerging between pages, and absently she wondered how Leon was doing, back in class. Charms had always been what he'd been best at. Beside the charm for levitation, there was a blackened rose petal and she smiled ruefully, touching the ash, remembering the disaster of her first attempt with a wand.

Lifting the box into her lap, she opened it and took out her wand. It fitted perfectly against her fingers, as usual, but it felt different. Maybe it was the change in herself and the magic she didn't have anymore. She touched the smooth wood, and shifted her hand around the grip.

"Swish and flick," she murmured, following the written instructions in the book.

It had always seemed weird to do it with a wand, when she knew she could do it with her mind, but now her mind and magic seemed to be cut off from each other, and the wand didn't feel so weird anymore.

Looking at the pile of books on the end of her bed, she bit her lip.

Pointing the wand, she spoke the incantation and swished and flicked.

To her shock, one of the books rose and inch, then fell off the heap.

Willow stared at the wand. It had done _something_. That was more than she had expected.

Her heart pounding, she pointed the wand and tried again. The book flopped over and landed on the floor with a thump. Drawing a deep breath to steady her nerves, she forced herself to be calm and tried again.

When the door opened and Xander returned, her sister with him, she turned a luminous smile on them.

"Wingardium leviosa!" she called out, waving the wand in the direction of the door.

As the tray levitated along with Xander and Ginny, and a bowl tipped and went bouncing across the floor, she realised that waiting until he'd put her bowl of cake and ice cream down would probably have been the smart thing to do.


	70. End of Term

Notes: The final chapter. The. Final. Chapter. Given that I started this in approximately 2001, it's rather shocking I finally got here, isn't it?

.

Buffy hit the wall and fell heavily to the ground.

Several paces away, Faith was shifting from foot to foot, watching their opponent warily, hands in fists in front of her. She managed to duck under the first swing and the kick, but another kick caught her in the middle and knocked her back.

Buffy caught her as she fell and both Slayers turned their attention to the man they had been doing their best to fight.

"Told you!" Spike said in delight. In the middle of the classroom that served as a training room, he was bouncing on his toes in a patch of sunlight and clapped his hands eagerly. "Come on. Give me a challenge! Both at the same time!"

"I think we've tested enough, Spike," Buffy said, rubbing a bruised arm.

"And gotta say I'm happy you're battin' for our side full time now, Fang Two," Faith added, pulling her hair back from her face and twisting it into a ponytail. "I gotta ask, though: you all power-human cos of the mojo or cos of the coffee?"

Spike laughed. "Could be either," he said. "Never had caffeine when I was a mortal."

"And half a pot before you come to show off to us seemed like a good idea because...?"

He grinned at the Slayer. "Thought it would be better if I was awake," he said. "After all, the element of surprise only works for a bit and Minnie had kept me up half the night to turn the Spanish Inquisition on me about what happened."

"Speaking of," Buffy said, "Giles is probably setting up the light to shine in your eyes and the truth potions and everything. You made him revert to 'oh, Lord' mode and we know what that means."

"That he'll stutter and stammer for half an hour before getting his knickers in a knot and actually asking a question?" Spike said, grinning even more widely. "S'easy enough. Old Dumble thought I had good in me for whatever reason, gave me the instruction book and let me spend a sodding year trying to decide what to do, went in for the tests and whatnot and ta-da! Human!"

"With vampire-strength..."

He nodded. "That's a bit the book didn't mention," he said cheerfully. "Thought I'd go back to being the..." He paused, considering it, then since he had easily kicked both of them around the room, settled for honesty. "Well, I was a ponce. A frill-wearing, poetry-reading, nancy-boy ponce."

"And you've changed how?" Buffy inquired, laughing.

"No frills, B," Faith said, grinning just as much as the former vampire. "Only change I'm seein'."

"Hey!"

Faith's lips twitched. "What? You telling me there _are_ frills under those pants? Baby, you got no shame."

"Silly cow," Spike said, rolling his eyes.

The blonde Slayer looked at the man who had been a vampire, as they picked up the weapons they had used and either broken or thrown aside. "So you still feel as strong as you did, huh?"

Spike nodded. "It's weird. I don't remember what it was like when I was human the first time around, but I know it didn't feel like this." He unfolded his hands and looked at them. "Vampires have the demon controlling a stolen body. It's like that. Like I can control every part of me, but there's nothing in here except me anymore."

"So what happened to the demon?" Buffy asked, closing the chest on the pile of weapons.

Spike's smile seemed forced for a moment. "They took it out."

"They?"

He shrugged. "You know. They. The mysterious people in charge of all things wot are mysterious and magical. The Powers That Be. They."

"Right," Faith said, unconvinced. "They. Got it."

"And the taking out?"

Spike turned away from them to retrieve his shirt, which he pulled on over his T-shirt. "It nipped a bit," he said casually. "Nothing serious."

Faith and Buffy exchanged looks.

"Nothing serious like the way the chip in your head made you feel?" Buffy asked quietly, touching his shoulder.

He laughed, but it was a strained sound. "Yeah. Nothing serious, just like that." He turned to look at her, then grinned weakly at her expression. "Don't you get soft on me now, Slayer. It's not like I didn't choose it this time."

"Still..."

"Still?" Spike laughed, his expression brightening. "Slayer, for the first time in my life, I kicked the arses of two Slayers at the same time and I wasn't even trying! If I can do that with you, I'm going to be the bloody Terminator when I actually put a bit of effort in!"

"Hey!" Faith said indignantly. "We were goin' easy on your nancy-boy poncy ass!"

"Yeah, yeah," Spike said, his smile returning. "Tell that to someone who didn't see me mopping the floor with you."

"Look around, Fang Two," Faith said with an expansive gesture around the room that was empty but for them and the weapons. "Don't see no witnesses here. Whatcha gonna do? Try and tell people you kicked our hinneys? Like they'll believe everything you say."

"Y'mean like that time I showed up and told them I'm human?" Spike challenged.

"Totally different thing," Buffy said with a dismissive wave. "That time, you could let them feel you had a pulse. Last time I checked, butt-kicking doesn't have a pulse to check."

"Actually," Spike said, eyes dancing, "I thought I'd borrow old Dumbledore's Pensieve, pull out some of the highlights and see if he's any good at rigging up a projector in the Great Hall, just to make sure everyone sees just how bloody good I am."

Buffy's eyes went round. "You wouldn't dare!"

"I like to think of it as a lesson for you both about your martial weaknesses," he said. It almost came out as a noble statement.

Or it would have done if he wasn't running for the door, laughing.

.8.8.8

"Again."

Willow lifted her wand. "Accio pillow!"

The pillow hurtled across the classroom and Professor Flitwick did a little dance of delight on the spot. "Wonderful!" he squeaked rapturously, clapping his hands. "Even better than we could have anticipated!"

Willow beamed, looking at her wand. "And I didn't even blow the wall across the lake," she said jubilantly.

"Which is quite the bonus, I think you'll agree," Hermione said.

They were the only people in the classroom, testing out Willow's newly discovered wand abilities. It seemed that with the loss of the accelerated and erratic powers she had touched while living near the Hellmouth, she had regressed to abilities to match any normal witch of her age.

"I guess it does mean starting all over, huh?" Willow said, then summoned another pillow with a gesture and spell.

"Better than being without altogether, I would say," Professor Flitwick replied. "And you have the advantage of knowing how to manage magic better than a lot of students who pass through these halls."

"And less of the glowing and being possessed by the school," Willow said, making a face. "You guys have no idea how weird that felt."

"The glowing was odd enough," Hermione agreed. "I think I would rather you stay flesh-toned and less luminous."

"Ditto," Willow said firmly. "It wasn't an experience I would call fun." She turned a determined look on the pillow she had summoned, then switch a swish and flick of her wand, exclaimed, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The pillow floated as if it were lighter than air and the youngest Weasley grinned in triumph.

"So we'll have to tolerate your presence for another year in the school?" Hermione said, swinging her feet back and forth. She was sitting on one of the vacant desks in the late afternoon light.

Willow laughed. "It's looking that way, huh?" she said, snatching the pillow out of the air and sitting down on the desk beside Hermione. "I mean, I have to learn to control the power I _do_ have now."

"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore won't object," Flitwick said happily, returning all the pillows to the large box with several deft flicks of his own wand. "Given that you saved the school, it would be unfair not to let you return."

Willow laughed quietly. "This is so weird," she said. "I'm already booked up to stay back at home with the rest of my family all summer. Fred and George were talking about me helping them to take over the world. And then school again..."

"After you take over the world?" Hermione teased.

Willow smiled. "Why not? I don't wanna be a dumb dictator." She paused, considering it. "Actually, I just don't wanna be a dictator if I know people can beat me in a wizard's duel, because I don't know which way to hold my wand."

"So you'll come back to school for nefarious purposes?" Hermione laughed.

Willow's eyes danced. "Well, when you put it like that, I guess so..."

"And if you have a little time in your dictator's calendar during the summer," Hermione said with a small smile, "I hope you know that you'll find yourself being borrowed as often as you can be spared."

Willow's wand clicked quietly down on the desk between them and her hand found Hermione's. "If you don't wanna make me a cranky dictator, you better make sure you keep to that."

"I certainly wouldn't want to make you a cranky dictator," Hermione agreed, leaning sideways against her. "I prefer benevolent dictators who don't mind if I read in bed."

Willow smiled and rested her head on Hermione's shoulder.

Professor Flitwick, with unusual tact, slipped away unnoticed.

.8.8

They had been meaning to leave for three days, but there had been some summer storms which made it impossible. When the sun finally came out and the roads were starting to dry up, Sirius arrived as soon as he could.

"Do you know where you're going yet?" Lorne asked as Faith checked her rucksack, making sure it was fastened and secure.

"I got no clue," she replied cheerfully. "Sirius says he wants to surprise me, and I kinda wanna see what he figures is a surprise."

The demon held out her leather jacket to her. "And all you know so far...?"

"Sirius, bike and sex and no jail'll be included," she replied, her grin widening. "My kinda break." There was a groan from behind her and she turned to see Dawn with her hands over her ears. "Hey, D."

"Do I have a bad-timing switch in my brain?" Dawn demanded pitifully, one eye squeezed shut, the other watching Faith dubiously. "Is there a radar or something that says 'go to this room and walk into sex-talk'?"

"Baby D, if you think that was sex talk, you're in for a big surprise," Faith said, laughing.

Dawn pulled a face, but lowered her hands from her ears. "You're staying in England, when you finish your break?"

"Honey," Lorne said, laughing, "I got yelled at about it already. We're in Scotland. They get antsy if you say the wrong thing in the wrong place."

Dawn grinned. "I know," she said. "I used that on Duncan. He went purple."

"Good goin'," Faith said approvingly. She turned the rucksack upside to check everything was secure. "And yeah. Looks like I'm hangin' around here." She glanced out of the window of the room. "It's cold and rains way too much, but it's an okay place."

"And no feds looking for you over here," Lorne agreed. "Nothing says sweet liberty like oblivious men in uniform."

"Don't you need ID over here?" Dawn asked.

Both demon and Slayer looked at her in amusement.

"You want to be the one to tell her, sweetie?" Lorne said.

Faith grinned. "D, the guys we're having out with are _Wizards_," she said it carefully and slowly, making Dawn pull another face at her. "They can make anyone believe anything they want to."

"Or," Sirius's voice cut in as he strolled into the room. His hair was tied back and he was wearing a black coat. "We can resort to the good, old-fashioned way of having a forgery made by a Muggle as well, just to be on the safe side."

"You tryin' to make me look dumb on purpose, Black?" Faith said, laughing as she hurled her backpack at him, making him grunt when it hit him in the middle.

"I thought you were doing quite well yourself," Sirius replied with a debonair smile. He examined the bag. "You manage to fit everything you need in this?"

"Red's girl put some kinda mojo on it," Faith replied, pulling on her jacket. "I bet I could fit inside it, if I needed to."

Sirius gave the backpack a thoughtful look. "Useful to know," he said, blue eyes glinting with mischief.

"You even think about trying it, Black," Faith said airily, as she propped a booted foot on her bed to finish lacing it up, "and you'll find out just how fast I can stick you in there."

Dawn snickered and Sirius sighed lamentably. "I always did pick the girls who were terribly cruel to me."

"And you keep comin' back for more," Faith said, laughing. "You ready?"

"As soon as you are," he agreed. He gave both Dawn and Lorne a nod and smile. "It was nice to meet you, and if I don't survive this excursion, I'm leaving it up to you to get revenge on this crazy woman for me."

"Do we look suicidal, honey?" Lorne said with a laugh as he got up. "Faith, you know where to find me, when you pass by."

"Biggest ass music room in the world?" she said, grinning. There was a moment of thoughtful silence as if she were considering the proper way to take her leave, then she socked him on the arm. "See ya, Greeny." She turned to Dawn, who got the same gesture. "You too, little D. And you tell B to hurry up and jump Mister Gloomy."

"Faith!" Dawn squeaked, clapping her hands over her ears again. "That's gross!"

Faith looked proud. "And that," she said, "is how to make a memorable goodbye."

Sirius shook his head as they left the room. "You're a bitch, you know."

Faith grinned. "Comin' from you, Mister I Turn Into a Dog," she said, "I guess that's a good thing."

Sirius just laughed.

..8

The term was drawing to a close, and after endless pleading from Dawn, it had been agreed that the Summers family, Giles and Xander would make the journey on the Hogwarts Express to London.

There would be several days spent in the city, and from there, a portkey to Salem had been arranged. Dumbledore had considered a direct portkey to the Hellmouth, but had decided against it, remembering the powers contained in Sunnydale.

Xander was hugging Willow warmly. "You have to write," he warned her, "and come and visit when you can."

"You know I will," she replied, laughing. "Don't think you're getting rid of me so easily, Mister."

"And you," he said, turning to Hermione, "make sure she doesn't listen to those brothers of hers and try and conquer the world. Our little Willow likes a challenge, and I think they could make her do something naughty."

"Xander!"

Xander gave Willow a virtuous look. "I'm speaking from experience," he said. "You can be misguided into some very naughty behaviour. After all, look what happened to Mister Howard's pool."

Willow went scarlet.

"That sounds like an interesting story," Hermione said with a laugh.

"Interesting in the way that no one will ever mention it or need to know about it again, ever?" Willow said hopefully. "Yeah, that's the kind of interesting it sounds, and did I ever tell you about the time I hacked into the Government's server?"

"Wills." Xander looked at her with as serious an expression as he could manage. "I hate to tell you this, but I think you've completely lost your perception about the different levels of good and naughty."

Willow made a face, then hugged him again.

"And when Percy gets around to proposing to Amy..."

"What?" Willow exclaimed.

Xander laughed. "Just wait and see," he said.

"D'you think having a think with a psychic made him a bit psychic too?" Dawn asked. She was approaching with mother. Buffy had been caught in conversation by several students, who had been disappointed to find out she wouldn't be coming back the next year.

"I think it's more a case that Percy follows Amy around like a devoted puppy," Hermione said, smiling. Ever since the attack on the castle, the pair had been inseparable, and she had to agreed with Xander's assumption.

"If anything happens, I'll e-mail," Willow agreed.

"And I'll say I told you so," Xander said cheerfully. He pulled himself up into the carriage, where a compartment had been set aside for them.

"Oi!" Joyce, who had been about to climb up into the carriage, and Dawn both turned to see Spike pushing his way through the swarming children towards them. "Don't think you're getting to run off without saying bye."

"Bet you're gonna miss us," Dawn said, grinning.

"And I need to know where you put the antidote for that..." He hesitated, then leaned closer and muttered something to Dawn. He pulled back and added, "I don't think Minnie would let me stay on if I did that and didn't have the cure."

Dawn laughed, leaning in to whisper something. Spike looked relieved. Dawn smiled and said, "I can't believe she's letting you crash at hers."

"S'not all fun and games," Spike replied with a roll of his eyes. "She wants to write an essay or something on me. Thinks it'll be the way to seal her notoriety in the wizards world. Only witch to not only get drunk with William the Bloody but to have him live on a camp bed in her living room."

"Poor reformed vampire," Joyce said with a smile. "You know where to find us, if you need to find some demons to kill."

"Or some little marshmallows?" he asked hopefully.

"Those too," Joyce said, accepting a hand up from him into the carriage. "But only if you behave."

Spike saluted. "Scout's honour."

"You were never a Scout," Dawn said dubiously as soon as Joyce was out of sight, making her way down the carriage to their compartment.

"Course not, Nibbles," he replied, grinning at her. "And I'll behave just as well as the Scout I never was." He held out his arms. "Do I get a warm and squashy mortal hug before you go back to your normal life or school and dullness?"

"Jerk," she said firmly, but hugged him all the same.

"Need a hand up?" he offered gallantly.

"What? You got turned back into a human and a gentleman?" she challenged, laughing. He made a face. "Nah. I'm waiting for someone."

Spike grinned wickedly. "About so tall, dark brown hair, blue eyes, lives about five miles north and doesn't need to get the train?" Dawn gave him an irritated look. "So, loverboy hasn't come to say bye yet."

"I'm not waiting for _him_."

"Then why's he headed this way?"

"What?" Dawn spun around to see Duncan squeezing his way through the other students, a box held in his hands. "That's cheating!"

"What is, honey?" Joyce asked, leaning out the window.

"I left that so Professor Snape would have to bring it, but he got Duncan too and now, he won't be here to say bye to Buffy!" Dawn said with a stamp of her foot. "She likes him and he didn't even come and say bye."

"She did go to speak to him yesterday," her mother pointed out reasonably. "Maybe she said bye to him then."

"It's not the same," Dawn said mutinously as Duncan approached. "People who like people are meant to see them leave at the train station. When you have a steam train and carriage and everything, it's a rule."

Willow groaned quietly. "You let her watch those old movies again, didn't you?"

Joyce laughed ruefully as Dawn snatched her potions box, which Duncan had given to her as a leaving present the week before, from the boy. "I think it might have put some ideas into her head."

"So he's not coming?"

Duncan shook his head. "He said he saw no reason to make a fuss."

"That jerk!" Dawn exclaimed again. "I didn't set this all up just so he wouldn't come!"

"It looks like he chose not to fall for it," Duncan said. "Did he know it was your plan?

"Of course he didn't!" Dawn said indignantly. "I was totally subtle. He shoulda come here himself with it."

"Like you're really surprised," Spike said with a snort. "He likes his basement."

"And he likes Buffy!"

"Who?" Buffy asked, having finally escaped from her other students and gave Duncan Cameron a nod in greeting. Giles was several feet behind her.

"Professor Snape! He was meant to come, but he didn't."

Buffy gave her sister a mystified look. "Why would he come?"

"Because," Dawn said with impatience, "he likes you."

"If he liked me," Buffy pointed out, "he would have been here, wouldn't he? Without you setting potions-professor traps."

"But..." Dawn looked from face to face. "But this isn't right!"

Buffy patted her sister on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it," she said. "We're going home now. He's staying here. It's easier this way." Her sister eyed her suspiciously. "What?"

"You're being all cheerful about it."

"So? We're going home. The bad guy is dead. Everyone's happy."

Dawn glared at her. "Did he drug you? Make you take an evil mind-controlling potion?"

There was a snort of amusement from Duncan.

"What's funny?"

Duncan shook his head. "Nothing at all!"

"Dawnie..."

"Well, did he?"

"No, Dawn," Buffy replied with a laugh. "Professor Snape didn't put anything in my drink, poison me in any way or do some kind of weird mind-control spell. I'm just looking forward to sleeping in my own bed in our house and kicking demon ass in my old cemeteries." She shrugged. "Just what any other girl would want to do."

Dawn threw up her free hand. "I don't get you!" she exclaimed, then climbed up into the carriage. There was silence for a moment, then she jumped back down and hugged Duncan mercilessly until he croaked that he was running out of air. "If you don't write, Anya's still staying over here. I'll send her to make you die of embarrassment."

"Oi!" Spike protested. "I'm here too."

Dawn gave him a thoughtful look, then turned back to the scarlet-faced Duncan. "Anyway, if you don't write, I'll ask Anya to come and see you. I could get her to bring you a Valentine message..."

"Not that!" Duncan exclaimed, pushing his way free. "I'll write! I promise!"

"Way to lose your badass credentials, Spike," Buffy said with a laugh. "A Valentine from the Head Teacher's girlfriend is scarier than you."

The former vampire stepped aside as Dawn climbed back onto the train. "I think I lost them the minute I agreed to let Minnie use me for a case study," he said ruefully. He held out a hand to her. "Take care, Slayer."

Buffy gave him an amused look as she shook his hand, then yanked him forward to hug him firmly. "You behave," she said.

"Badly," he promised, giving her a hand up after she hugged both Willow and Hermione in turn.

Sticking her head out of the window, she looked down at the two witches. "You two can visit any time," she said as Giles climbed up to join the rest of them in the carriage. "Just as long as you don't show up in the middle of slaying."

"I know the rules," Willow said with a smile. She climbed up on the step and murmured, "But you sure you're okay? I mean, he shoulda..."

Buffy smiled innocently. "Wills, Severus Snape is a very private man. And he hates kids and people being sappy. Why would he come all the way down here just to see some annoying American who almost got him killed leave?"

Willow looked as doubtful as Dawn. "I guess." She hopped down as the doors along the train started slamming shut, and she stepped back with Hermione and Spike to the far side of the platform.

"Thanks for bringing Dawn's box down, Duncan," Buffy said with a mischievous smile for the boy, who stepped a little closer to the closed door. Further down the carriage, she heard her sister calling for her. "I bet I won't hear the end of it for the whole journey."

The boy gave her a smile that seemed brief and uncharacteristic on his cheerful face. "I'm sure you won't, Summers, and I made sure Cameron will keep it a cheerful secret," he said quietly as the train slowly started to move. He walked alongside the door, keeping pace with it. "He was only too pleased to finally 'get one up' on your sister." For a moment, he walked in silence, then said, "Do try not to get yourself killed."

"I'll do my best," she promised, "and the invitation still stands."

"It will be considered." Behind the boy's guileless eyes, there was a spark of something that was definitely not childish. He raised his voice so the rest of the carriage could hear him call, "Have a safe journey."

Buffy laughed and slid the window shut as the train rumbled out from Hogsmeade and away from Hogwarts.

They were finally going home.


	71. Epilogue

Epilogue

"You think that'll really work?"

Joyce Summers looked at the sheets of paper arranged in front of her on the dining room table. Outside, someone was mowing their lawn in the sun. "I don't see why not," she said. "After all, if a wizard can't forge medical documentation, who can?"

"How about someone who knows that transistor isn't part of a human body?" Buffy said, pointing to one of the sheets with a laugh. "Wizards don't see things like us, especially for medicine thing. They use chocolate as a cure!"

Joyce considered that. "I think that's a very practical thing to do," she decided.

"You just like that it means chocolate's good for you," Dawn said with a snicker.

She was kneeling on a chair at the other end of the table, writing a letter to Duncan. They had tried e-mailing for a few weeks, but it hadn't worked out in his magic-filled house, so they were back to using owls.

Or in Dawn's case, a grumpy-looking eagle that had been sent on from Salem for her.

Joyce gave her younger daughter a pointed look and Dawn immediately ducked back down over her letter. "I don't want to have to see her held back a grade," she said, "but she was away for so much of the term."

"I did my homework!" Dawn exclaimed, lifting her head. "All I missed were some stupid papers!"

"I don't know if that argument'll work, sweetie," Joyce said apologetically. "If we don't have the proof about why you were away."

"Say that I got struck down with that crazy-person disease that made everyone crazy!" Dawn exclaimed quickly. "Tell them I got better and now, I'm back to normal and don't have to skip anything."

Buffy was reading one of the sheets of paper. "I don't think they'd believe it," she said.

"The crazy disease?"

"The getting better," Buffy replied, grinning.

"Hey!" Dawn hurled a screwed up ball of paper at her sister's head.

Both the Slayer and her mother laughed, then turned in surprise when there was a brief knock at the door.

"Are we expecting anyone?" Joyce asked.

"No one who bothers to knock," Buffy replied, pushing her chair back and getting to her feet to answer it. She peered through the window beside the door, then a smile lit up her face and she pulled the door open. "Hey! I thought you'd forgotten about us!"

Severus Snape offered her a hesitant smile. He was dressed like a Muggle and he looked uncomfortable in the clothing, but she knew he'd made the effort so he could come. "I hope the invitation still stands," he said carefully.

Buffy smiled and rose on her toes to kiss him. "It does," she said, and pulled him into the house.

Yes, it's finally finished.


End file.
